AMK in South Africa

Leaving Durban

2009-11-30T09:36:00.002+02:00

I'm leaving Durban today. Not ready to leave at all. This past week I wrote my 62-page ISP within 48 hours (including my first all-nighter ever, ironically in Africa) and presented it pretty well.
This whole week has been a whirlwind, just getting the ISP done and then trying to enjoy everything in Durban that we'd previously missed because we were so busy with school work. I spent a lot of the past weekend shopping, going out at night, and spending time with friends in Cato Manor, where I lived for 5 weeks.
Yesterday a bunch of us went to a soccer match at the new World Cup stadium in Durban between the Pietermaritzburg and AmaZulu, one of the teams from Durban. The stadium was absolutely amazing. It was raining, but we had a great time and got on TV! Later a few friends and I went to braii (barbeque) in Cato Manor and then went out to kareoke night in Durban. It was an absolutely wonderful last day to spend in the city with our South African friends,
Now I'm off to St. Lucia for a safari with all of the other American students, then we head to Joburg and I leave SA on the 3rd and land on the4th. I'm looking forward to bonding with all of my friends before we have to say goodbye, but I'd almost rather just do it in Durban so our friends here don't have to get left behind.
That's all for now.

I wish it would rain.

2009-11-24T15:37:00.002+02:00

No, seriously, I wish it would rain. Living on the beach in nice sunny weather is not conducive to writing a 40 page research paper. I'm a little bit frustrated, working without my library corner and library buddies, but I'm confident I'll be able to complete my work. I have to present my research on Friday, so I'm not quite under the gun yet, but it will come. I think the most frustrating thing is that in my official paper I'm not allowed to criticize the hospital's practices as all. Abstaining from all value judgments is pretty difficult, especially in this context. I have to write a second confidential paper that cannot be published to analyze my findings as well. It's annoying that the bureaucracy of the system is keeping me from saying what I want to say, but that's how it goes, I guess. I got an A on my first research paper on vitamin A deficiency here, so I'm fairly confident in my writing style, it's just a matter of settling down and writing. I'm about 30 pages in so far, but still so far to go.

Tonight I'm going to visit my family from Cato Manor and to say goodbye to them for the last time. I haven't seen them in about a month and I miss them a lot! Goodbyes are tough, especially when I don't know when (or if) I'll be returning to South Africa to see them. I got them a photo album with all of the pictures I've taken of us together and I'm looking forward to some good Zulu food tonight :)

Back in the city!

2009-11-21T16:43:00.002+02:00

I've returned from the bush! I'm sorry if you've been checking in and are disappointed in my lack of updates. Internet is pretty hard to come by out there, even when you have a blackberry. Yesterday we did the 6 hour drive back from Kosi Bay to Durban. I'm moved into my old flat with my old roomates. It was so wonderful to see all my friends again, like returning home after a semester at school. Last night we just stayed up talking and telling stories about our ISP experiences. Everyone went somewhere different and learned different things, it was amazing to be able to catch up!
Today we went to a craft market together. Christmas shopping has begun! I hope my family won't be too upset with African Christmas gifts... I'm already in the holiday mood, especially because I won't be able to celebrate Thanksgiving this year. It's my first Thanksgiving away from home, and it's a little sad. My friends and I are going to do a make-shift thanksgiving with a chicken and a butternut squash pie instead of the traditional food, so hopefully it'll be fun.
Also, this week I have a 40 page research paper to write. Yikes! There are so many things about my experiences at the hospital and the medicine practiced there that putting everything into words will be pretty tough. Hopefully it'll come out all right.
Update: I'm adding pictures to Flickr right now, check it out if you have a chance!

Update

2009-11-17T09:10:00.000+02:00

So sorry for anyone who's been wondering where I've been. The internet signal at the backpackers' I'm staying at has been weak and it's been raining and thunderstorming all weekend. Everytime it rains here the electricity goes off for sometime and cell service gets a little iffy. We have a gas stove and candles, so it's not affecting us too much. Just a nice little reminder that I'm in Africa. It does, however, make me miss the comforts of home like the fireplace and my down comforter quite a bit. Erin and I have started listening to Christmas carols and planning all of the American foods we're going to eat when we get home to cheer ourselves up.

Speaking of food, I have become a very creative cook since being here. That's what happens when you have limited ingredients and kitchen appliances. We've been doing a lot of experimenting in the kitchen to keep ourselves amused and fed. Especially when it comes to desert. Try this: baked bananas with cinnamon, sugar, coconut milk, maple syrup, and pecans. Yum. We've become quite obsessed with curry powder and coconut milk. Yesterday we successfully bought a coconut at the market and cracked it open using a wine opener and a large rock. Then we baked and ate it for dessert after dinner. Enough about our food.

Over the weekend, during the few hours the sun was out, we took a drive out to see the beach at Kosi bay. The locals there have fish traps that are quite amazing. The whole cove is absolutely beautiful and very tropical. It's a big vacation spot for lots of Afrikaaners. To get to the beach you have to drive in a 4x4 down this rather crude dirt road that actually goes through the peoples' land. I was amazed at how people treated us as we came in a big car. Every person we passed by held a hand out for money or said "some sweets?". It's a huge difference when people see you in a car, on a bike, or just helping out at the mobile. In a car, they assume you're a tourist with money to give. On a bike, they don't quite know what to make of you, so they just point and laugh. At the hospital, if you're white you must be a doctor so you're given silent reverence. It's very strange, but I'm glad to be experiencing things from different angles.

Sunday night we went for a quick run and were returning to our hut when we got somewhat attacked by a swarm of termites (mind you, at this point we've encountered a scorpion, giant spiders, ant colonies, and now termites all in our huts. Also, the lizards that eat all of these creatures and leave their droppings everywhere) and so we went to seek out the caretaker of the lodge to see if he had a solution. He was drinking wine with his wife and some other guests and they invited us to join them while he went to get rid of the termites. While we were there attempting to make polite conversation, one woman asked us when we'd be leaving to go home. We replied in December and she said, "Well thank goodness for that, you don't want to be in city on New Years Day!" When I asked why, she replied "Well the whole city becomes inundated with blacks! All of them rush to the see like a swarm of ants! They believe it has some sort of healing power. You don't want to be there then." Erin and I were just shocked. Erin said, "Well, we've been living with Zulu families and think that they're great people." We then downed our glasses of wine faster than you can imagine and excused ourselves. We escaped but still could not believe what we'd heard. Not only what she'd said, but the fact that she believed it was acceptable to say to us, like we'd agree with her. We retreated to the kitchen where we made dinner, a little tipsy, and vented about the Afrikaaners here. It seems that one day, I'm identifying with the whites and the next I'm with the Zulus. There is no in between here, and that's the toughest part. And so, as Thanksgiving approaches, I am increasingly grateful for my American upbringing; that I've been taught the principles of equality and tolerance. I'm realizing that our particular outlook on how people relate in the world is much more unique that what I once imagined. Though we've got a lot of problems of our own and what we preach isn't always what we practice, I'm still thankful that I'm an American who can believe in the individual, in the powers of freedom and equality, and in open-mindedness. Maybe someday South Africa might truly follow.

2009-11-12T21:46:00.000+02:00

Yesterday I saw a woman who weighed 70 pounds and was probably six feet tall. She is dying of AIDS. Today I met a girl who is 14 and 6 weeks pregnant. She looked scared to death. Then I rode home from the hospital in a lightning storm. Just when I think I'm getting accustomed to the country, it goes and shocks me again. And even when I feel like I'm beginning to understand life here, it slaps me in the face. I've lived with these people in their homes and worked with them enough to understand the difficulties, but only on a very surface-level. I can study the problems and solutions all I want, but when it comes down to it, I can't ever even come close to being able to truly empathize because I'm privileged to never have to experience a lot of the terrible things that go on here. Sure, I can get annoyed when I'm harrassed on my bike, but I have the privilege of choice. I have the power to pick up my phone and organize a way to get me out of that situation if need be. Privilege is the ability to choose and the ability to escape. I can be immersed in the culture, but unless I can magically cut all of my ties to the outside world, I can't ever experience what rural South African life is like. And I don't really want to, because it's a lot of not having control over anything. I hate the fact that my skin color, relative finances, education, and passport all give me privilege in the world because they shouldn't. But my privileges give me a lot more control than any other 20 year old girl in this area of the world, and for that I am thankful. It's a lot of contradiction, and there's no way around it-- I want to understand life here to the fullest extent, but I can't because I'm able to do so many other things in the world. And that's something to be thankful for.

Frustrations

2009-11-11T21:00:00.000+02:00

Part of living in a different place with a different culture is getting frustrated with things. I know that if Erin was not staying here with me and if we couldn't vent to each other about our frustrations at the hospital, I'd go crazy. Yesterday we both decided to take a mental health day from the hospital and focused on writing up our work instead. It was definitely necessary. Just so you understand where I'm coming from, I'll outline just a few things that really get to me here.

1.Men are pigs. I know, Dad, I should have listened to you all these years, and you were right. But the thing is, American men seem to know what is and is not off limits, some just don't respect the boundaries. Men here don't see any boundaries. South Africa is still very patriarchal and women are often treated like crap. This is a society where it is indecent for women to wear pants because it shows that they think they're equal to men. Further, domestic abuse is considered normal and this is considered to be the "rape capital of the wolrd". So, as you can imagine, two white girls riding bikes wearing shorts in the middle of rural SA is a little bit strange to these guys. We've gotten all sorts of cat calls, you name it, we've heard it. I started out being friendly to everyone I see, but now I just stare straight ahead when I'm riding to and from work and make no eye contact. Many times I've wanted to put on the breaks and lash out at the men, but I've been able to contain myself thusfar. The problem is that it doesn't just happen on the street. What would be considered sexual harrassment happens in the work place all the time. You cannot go to the grocery store or the gas station without someone saying "I love you" or "you give me your phone number" or something like that. Even at the hospital, men are overly forward and creepily flirtatious. It doesn't matter how old they are either. It's absolutely disgusting. Not charming, not flattering, just obnoxious. And girls here just accept that this is the way life is. The lack of respect for women permeates every aspect of life here in ways I can't describe on a blog. I can't imagine living like that.

2. Being white. Yes, this is usually a privilege and I should be thankful for being born lucky because pale skin opens a lot of doors in this messed up world. But the other big frustration of our bike ride is that children constantly scream "umlungu!" Or "abelungu!" And just plain scream at us. It's like being an animal in the zoo. I really don't understand, because white people do live in this country. They make up about 10% of the population, so it's not like we're the first white people to be seen here. It just upsets me that we've made it into the 21st century and still I can go someplace and the first thing people notice is the color of my skin. I recognize that I should not be so whiney, that apartheid ended only 15 years ago and lots of non-caucasions have dealt with this every day of their lives, but it's very new to me and thus extremely frustrating.

3. Inefficiency. I think that everyone who's grown up in America automatically assumes that the best way to do things is the efficient way. Efficiency is what America does well and South Africa, though it's trying desperately to be more Americanized everyday, may never truly get this concept. There are so many examples. Take, for instance, the fact that "fast food" here takes 20 minutes of you waiting at a counter. Or that hospital staff take two tea breaks in the middle of the day in addition to their lunch break. Or that you can wait forever for a minibus taxi because there's no real public transportation schedule in the 3rd biggest city of the country. It's enough to make me want to scream. Maybe it's the American in me that wants things done right now all the time, but work just is not an efficient thing here and it drives me nuts.

3. Poor quality health care. For all of America's health troubles, at least we can say this: our doctors and nurses and other health professionals are well trained and do their job right. And if they don't, we sue their asses out of the industry. There are no slip ups, no incorrect diagnoses, no lack of caring. Every doctor has an incentive to do their very best, because patients are more than willing to make a fuss if they think they've been given any less than the best treatment. Well, not here. I've seen lots of incorrect diagnoses. There are people practicing medicine with only a year of training. Sanitation measures aren't kept even when the resources are there to do so. The worst part is, nobody cares. Doctors and nurses don't care because there's no incentive for them to care. Patients don't care because they don't know any better, this is probably the best medical care they've ever had. It doesn't matter if no one can call you out on it, when peoples' lives are at stake I expect nothing but the best from any medical professional.

And there ends my frustrated rant on South African culture. As a disclaimer, let me add that I'm not referring to specific individuals, these are just generalized statements. Also, I believe that the cause of most of these problems is a lack of education, but that's a different rant for a different day. Needless to say, being abroad has made me love other cultures, but I definitely have a new appreciation for America. Lesson learned: never take your culture for granted.

Victory in healthcare reform!

2009-11-09T10:02:00.000+02:00

In case you've been living under a rock, the House passed the health reform bill and ruled that elective abortions cannot be paid for by taxpayers' money. This is a HUGE victory for prolifers such as myself. I think that this is a great step towards health care for all and a great push back against Roe v. Wade at the same time. I don't want to celebrate too early, because I know things could just as easily change in the Senate, but I'm hopeful. The new legislation will probably mean that I will get paid less in the future, but I'm okay with that. Hopefully I won't want to eat my words ten years down the line.
The reason I feel so strongly that this is a good thing is because I believe in the right to life and a quality life at that. To deny other people access to health care in a time and place in history where we know more about keeping the body healthy than ever before I believe is sinful. Still in the U.S., where innovation and new biomedical frontiers are the best in the world, we deny the poor healthy living. I don't think we can morally do this anymore. I have to admit, I wasn't a huge fan of Obama to begin with, but it seems he's rising to the occassion. Of course, we shouldn't call it a success until it all plays out. I hope that our own healthcare system doesn't take on the inefficiencies that I've witnessed of socialized medicine here. It's absolutely necessary for everyone to be able to afford a healthy life, but we also have to have incentives for everyone involved in the medical industry to keep on providing quality care. I don't know how it will all play out, but I hope that a balance can be found.
What I do know is that this is big. It even made the morning news in SA today. Of course, the South Africans are already questioning how it will affect them. Whatever policy America puts forth creates huge waves internationally, as I've witnessed. I'm not sure our health reform will affect anything here, as they already have a very inefficient socialized system, but I guess we shall see...

Sadness

2009-11-06T17:52:00.000+02:00

Today I met a seven year old boy who is HIV positive and constantly gets infections because of his compromised immune system. He's had chronic ear infections for awhile now and has a hard time hearing. He's in the care of his grandmother, who is also HIV positive because his mother died of AIDS. They came to the mobile clinic a little late, after all of the nutritional supplements had been handed out, so he's probably going to be hungry for the next two weeks until the mobile comes around again. All he got was some Panado (Tylenol by a different name) and ammoxycillin for his ear infection.

I'm not sure if I'll ever get used to seeing such sadness everyday. I'm not sure if I'd want to. So many doctors and nurses detach themselves from their patients' suffering as a defense mechanism. It drains the compassion out of them but keeps the heart from breaking I guess. There's no way to be compassionate and not let it affect you.I'm not sure if a happy medium even exists. I just hope I never get used to the idea of unnecessary human suffering.

Hello, Doctor

2009-11-06T09:45:00.000+02:00

Since I've been working at the hospital, I have over and over been called doctor. The nurses say that here, when you are studying to be a doctor, you are called doctor already. I'm pretty sure that being white factors into it, too. In the US, you're not called doctor until you've got an MD diploma hanging on the wall, a white coat, and several years of residency to prove it. At every location we visit the nurses tell the people that I am a visiting doctor.
As you can imagine, this makes me extremely uncomfortable, as I don't even come close to having the qualifications to being a doctor. I haven't even made it into medical school yet (also, in SA you apply to a 7 year medical school right out of high school, so I'd technically be a med student if I was born here). It's not only peoples' expectations that I have skills that I don't have, it's also the feeling of being completely helpless that is so terrible. I follow these kind nurses around all day, yet I can't really do anything but speed up their work by being a scribe. One nurse keeps asking me to take blood pressure and give injections, but I'm not qualified to do so and to practice on people just because they are poor and don't have a choice is unbelievably unethical. Being unable to offer skills or comfort is probably the hardest thing about this work. The only positive is that it makes me more eager to get to medical school and graduate so I can return to places like this (although I'd ultimately love to work in Haiti) once I have acquired the skills to really help people instead of just watching and taking notes.

Day 3 in the Mobile

2009-11-05T20:52:00.000+02:00

Today we headed off to Lulwane, a small village that is about an hour away from the hospital. The community had built a new church recently and with their left over materials they were able to build a snall building for the clinic as well. The team set up with the professional nurse and the nurse giving injections in the building, the VCT counselor under a tree, the dispensary in the mobile, and the nurse doing pediatric diagnoses under a different tree. I was with the nurse diagnosing children again. He likes attempting to flirt with me and I also take notes for him, so he doesn't mind me asking lots of questions. I saw more of the same today-- lots of kids getting vaccines and having scabies and head sores. I also saw quite a few nasty infections on some very young children and some pretty awful malnutrition. One thing that struck me today was the amount of teen mothers. I realized when I turned 20 this year that I have passed the point in my life where I could ever end up a teen mom, yet I still recognize that I am nowhere near ready to have kids. Which is good, since medical school will probably eat up most of my 20s. at 20 I can't imagine having a kid, but I saw some really young girls with really sick babies. Lots of them had to drop out of school once they got pregnant. One girl was 18 and had a 5 year old. Another was 17 with 6 week old twins. I realize that teen pregnancy is a problem everywhere, but it's even more of a problem when everyone is scraping just to get by. Even if I somehow popped out a kid tomorrow and had to drop out of college, I'm sure I'd find a way to keep my child healthy and safe. These girls just don't have the resources to do it. The thing is, "safe sex" is vocalized to the extreme here because of HIV. You can't go anywhere without it being thrown in your face. The mobile clinic that comes every two week (inadequate health service, I realize, but existing nonetheless) offers free condoms and free family planning injections, which is better than the pill when there's still a huge stigma attached to birth control of all sorts. So I haven't really gotten to the bottom of why so many teen girls become pregnant. Some ideas; there's a grant (like welfare) for single moms, gender inequality is rampid and more rapes occur in SA than anywhere else in the world, and the "it won't happen to me" attitude. Whatever the reason, it's not helping this country's poverty at all. It seems like the health sector is doing what it can to combat the issue, but there just aren't enough resources to do it with full force. When 25 percent of your population is infected with HIV, there are other priorities I guess. I guess the most frustrating thing is that pregnancy is not a contagious disease that spreads. It is a social problem that requires social solutions. The pill or the shot can't just make it go away. It just seems so preventable, yet ruins so many young girls' lives. It's just overall very very sad.

Getting started

2009-11-04T20:54:00.000+02:00

I've been learning so much the past two days that I haven't had time to update this blog! My apologies... I'll try to give you the condensed version, but some things will have to get left out. Feel free to email me if you have further questions about what I'm doing.

So, basically, my ISP is about figuring out the challenges of providing health care by mobile units and then deciding if they're a good thing for health or not. The hospital wanted me to audit the mobiles, but since the nurse in charge of auditing has been MIA, I'm just trying to learn as much as I can for the time being. Tuesday was my first time out with the mobile clinic. To give you an idea of the structure, think of a cross between a covered pickup truck and.a hearse, stock it full of medicine, and cram some nurses in. There you go. There are two professional nurses who ride in the cab (one drives) and the enrolled nurse (2 years of school), auxiliary nurse (1 year school) and VCT counselor ride on benches in the back. By the way, these benches also double as cabinets, tables, examining tables, etc. We traveled an hour and a half to get to the mobile point, which was.a field with a lot of cows in it. There was a group of women and children under two trees, two community health workers, and a small shack that is for the mobile clinic, but also houses livestock when the mobile isn't there. So, we arrive and unpack. The CHWs start weighing all the patients and the auxiliary nurse starts taking the blood pressure of all the adults. (By the way, I'm not using their names for privacy reasons, but I do know their names, it's not like I'm just standing in the corneer taking notes and not interacting). I'm the recording of information, fetcher, doer of random things. Also, I serve as entertainment for the old zulu gogos who think It's halarious to hear me attempt to speak isiZulu. After all BPs are recorded, the head professional nurse sets up shop in one room of the shack and she sees all the adults and diagnoses them. Every piece of information is written on their health card, which the know to bring with them to the clinic. After the head nurse diagnoses and writes their treatment plan on the card, they either go to see the auxiliary nurse, who is in the next room in the shack and is doing tests and injections, or they can go to the mobile itself, which has been transformed by the enrolled nurse into a pharmacy. Reasons for seeing the auxiliary nurse (for adults) might by urine testing for STDs among other things, blood draws (for CD4 count- indicator of severity of AIDS), sputum test for TB, blood sugar test, pregnancy test, or pregnancy prevention injection. All of these are fairly common. There's also a second prof. nurse who sets up underneath a tree and must diagnose all of the children. The children then go to see the auxiliary nurse for vaccines, urine testing, etc. The VCT counselor does HIV testing ans counseling to anyone who wants it. The enrolled nurse dispenses medicines prescribed by the professional nurses in the mobile. Each mobile point is only visited every two weeks, so there are a wide range of illnesses and you never know what you're going to find.
Yesterday, I shadowed the auxiliary nurse, which was really interesting. I watched her give lots of vaccines (measles, polio, rotavirus, DPT, all those normal kids ones) as well as draw a lot of blood for CD4 counts and give quite a few birth control injections. I also saw her give a 14 year old the results of a positive pregnancy test in front of the whole crowded room of women. There is basically no privacy, as everyone who needs an injecyion waits in the same room as the nurse. It was pretty crazy. On one hand, you're hit by all of the limitations of the job, but on the other, it's absolutely amazing what one woman can do with a sheet spread on the dirt floor and covered with boxes of medicines, needles, vaccines, etc. She was also amazing at teaching me what all the vaccines were and who got what and what they prevented, it was great.
Today I shadowed the professional nurse who diagnoses children. I learned a lot here also. I served as his personal scribe so he had to repeat everything in English to me. I saw a whole lot of sadness, including a 2 week old baby with penumonia, a lot of malnutrition (16 year old boy who looked 8), and a lot of skin diseases on children that were baically from lack of cleanliness. Not that I'm blaming their mothers for being dirty, I realize that it's near impossible with no running water. I also came to notice that sickness is often a family thing. Often, if one child had scabies, another sibling would have an ear infection or head sores as well. Lots of mamas came bringing 2 or 3 sick children at a time. I learned a lot about diagnosing children. The nurse I was shadowing rarely had to examine them, and if he did, it was done in a plastic chair under the tree, not with any privacy. It definitely took a lot of skill, but it was amazing how much he could do with just a stethescope and a thermometer.
So that's been my first two days with the mobiles. It's a whirlwind report, but I'll hoepfully be able to write more frequently from now on. Tomorrow I'll be shadowing the nurse who dispenses all the medicine, and he claims he'll teach me how to do it so he gets a dat off. We shall see...

First Day: failed

2009-11-02T16:15:00.000+02:00

This morning I was really excited for my first day of working with the clinics. I thought everything was set up and ready to go. Not so much. The sister (that's a general name for a nurse in SA) who I was supposed to meet with to get my project off the ground this morning didn't show up. No call, nothing. And the rest of the staff weren't really phased by this at all. The supervising sister just told me to come back tomorrow. It seems to be the overall attitude of doctors and nurses here that because this is a public hospital and the people it serves are poor, they should just take what they can get and shouldn't expect quality care. This attitude comes out in everything: the fact that doctors wear flip flips, the fact that there's no real systemic way of keeping records, the fact that it's okay if someone you depend on just doesn't show up. It's very very frustrating. Hopefully I'll have better luck tomorrow. It's a good introduction to third world medicine, I guess, and a huge incentive to become a better doctor-- one who treats her patients like their worth her time.

As an addendum, I wrote the wrong book title in my last post. It's called "The Invisible Cure: Africa, the West, and the Fight Against AIDS" by Helen Epstein.

Elephants, impala, and wildebeast, oh my!

2009-11-01T16:12:00.000+02:00

To first recap the weekend:
Saturday Erin and I spent the day lounging in the tree fort reading and napping. Around 4 we figured it was time to be active and went for a run on what are literally goat paths (yes, we did run into a herd of goats). We also encountered numerous children who like to run with us for awhile. None of them wear shoes and a lot of them have the signs of typical kwashikor, or protein-deficient malnutrition. If you've ever seen black children with distended stomachs and red-tinted hair, you know what I'm talking about. We saw lots of friendly people on our run who smiled and really enjoyed when we greeted them in Zulu. I've come to find that running is probably the best way to get ahold of new surroundings.
After our run, we cooked dinner (we're becoming fabulous cooks, really) and I finished my book. Yesterday I read "the invisible cure: aids, the west, and africa" (or something like that, it had a long title) by Helen Epstein. If you're interested in learning a little bit about what I'm learning, this is the book. It was super interesting and put into words all of the health challenges that happen in Africa. Furthermore, I think it's pretty cool to read a book and have been to or studied the villages and towns it speaks of. I highly recommend it. Epstein's main theory in the book is that AIDS is much more prevelant in Africa than anywhere else in the worls because of the sexually customs that allow for concurrent relationships. What this means is that in western culture, it's pretty taboo to be seeing or sleeping with more than one person at a time, no matter how promiscuous you're being. However, in African culture (she lumps all African culture together, I can only speak for Zulus) it's perfectly acceptable for a guy to have 2 or more steady girlfriends. In traditional Zulu culture, it's normal for a man to have multiple wives. Because of the way the viral load attacks one's body, this basically sets up a perfect system for the transmittance of HIV. I've observed and had many men tell me of this cultural practice (women often have more than one man as well, let's not blame this on testosterone alone) so I'm willing to vouch for its general acceptance. What's really interesting is that the NY Times today ran an article on Jacob Zuma, the president, who declared recently that the government is committed to fighting AIDS with ARVs. It was a proud moment for SA, especially since their last president, Mbeki, denied that HIV lead to AIDS and instead of promoting or even allowing drugs, tried to tell the country's dying AIDS victims that their disease was caused by poor nutrition. Essentially, a messy situation that Zuma is now trying to fix. The Times article did note, however, that Zuma did not encourage limiting one's partners to cut down on HIV (he himself has multiple wives) but instead focused on condom usage, a strategy that hasn't been working so well for SA. Helen Epstein might not be too impressed, but it's still a step in the right direction for a country where no one plans on living past 50.

On a happier note... WE SAW ELEPHANTS! Erin and I spent our Sunday on safari. That is, Conrad, the caretaker of our little African paradise that we're living in, took us in a drive around the Tembe elephant reserve, which is about 20 minutes away. There's said to be about 140 elephants there. We were able to see 5, which is pretty awesome. We were able to sit by the watering hole and watch the animals come and go. It was pretty awesome. I got some wonderful pictures and can now leave Africa saying I've seen wild elephants. We didn't get to see any lions or giraffes, but we're going on a big safari with the whole group right before we go home, so there's still time.
Hope everyone had a happy halloween. My work at the hospital officially starts tomorrow, wish me luck!

Hello from Kosi Bay

2009-10-31T08:48:00.000+02:00

I have blackberry service all the way up here, about 17k from the Mozambique border. The 8 hour drive up here was absolutely thrilling. We went over the most beautiful mountains and lakes, it was absolutely breathtaking. One of the academic assistants, Sdu, drove us all the way up here. The N2 highway goes all the way up the coast, and that's what Erin and I took to get here. I was also able to add to my animal count since being here-- I'd previously seen some zebras and monkeys (they're like the African version of squirrels), but I've now seen wild boar (think Puma from the Lion King), ostriches, some African deer, and what looked like a wildebeast. There's an elephant reserve just down the road and Erin and I are planning to spend the R250 (that's about $35) to go on an elephant safari. Our accomodations are currently a backpackers lodge that is probably the coolest place I've ever stayed. The whole thing is made out of sticks and reeds, or at least appears to be so. We've got our own little stick hut, complete with thatched roof, porch, electricity, and mosquito net. There's a fully equipped kitchen for us to cook in and communal bath house with hot showers. The other communal areas consist of a living room that is seriously a tree fort and a bar, also made entirely out of sticks and reeds. There are pathways, like little stick boardwalks f, that lead you from one place to another. It's very rustic, but still has everything one could need. It's also very quiet, after being in the city for so long, it's amazing to just have the sound of the rain and the birds at night.
We're about 6k from the main town where the hospital is located. Erin and I have bikes, loaned to us by Zed, our academic director, that are probably the crappiest bikes I've ever seen. Not a big deal, it saves us walking the 6k every day, and we don't have to take a minibus, which are typically not the safest anyways. Plus, I now get to say that I'm living in a stick hut and riding my bike to work in Africa, and who wouldn't want to be able to make that claim? It's pretty cool.
Yesterday was our first experience of the hospital. It was originally a missionary hospital, taken over by the state in 1986. It's a public hospital, which here, means if you can't afford it, it's pretty much free. The hospital is very spread out, with different buildings for each wing and covered walkways connecting them all. The quality is definitely not state of the art, but they're making things work as best they can. Not the sanitary conditions you'd expect of US hospitals, but still much better than others around the world, I'm sure. We got to meet a lot of the doctors and nurses. Doctors are primarily white and nurses are all black. How's that for a power dynamic for you? In SA, doctors are required to spend their first year out of medical school doing 'community service' in a rural public hospital. It's good because otherwise these hospitals would never get staffed. But it's bad because these are mostly white doctors who are not invested in the community they're serving. The greatest of implications of this is that most of the doctors make no effort to learn to speak Zulu and their patients cannot speak English. So often nurses, who don't always speak too much English themselves, become the translators. It's just not a great system. From my two months of Zulu classes, I can speak lots more than the doctors, who have lived in this country their whole lives. I promise, that wherever I end up working, I'll learn the language of my patients. Having a doctor who can't communicate is kind of like having no doctor at all.
Plans for my project are looking up. I was able to speak with a nurse who says that she wants me to be able to do an audit of the mobile clinics. That is, just observe for three weeks and present my findings to the hospital so they can improve their services. I'm really happy about this as it means I'm not just using the hospital to learn for my own benefit, they'll be benefitting too. I start work on Monday!
That's all for now, happy halloween, even though halloween doesn't exist here. I think I'm okay with that, we might go see some elephants this weekend instead. It seems like a pretty good trade to me.

Leaving Durban

2009-10-29T08:03:00.000+02:00

The past few days have been kind of a whirlwind of activity here. I spent a good deal of time writing my final community health paper on vitamin a deficiency in south african communities and its possible solutions. The topic was pretty interesting, but probably not 25 pages worth of interesting. We all had to simultaneously work our our independent study proposals and have them approved by the academic board. Yesterday I finally got everything signed off on.
My friends and I celebrated by going out to kareoke night at a bar down the street. It was kind of a hole in the wall kind of place, but some of the guys from Cato Manor joined us and we had a great time singing terrible songs and dancing. It's funny, whenever we go out I get a whole new look at south african society. We don't really interact with white south africans much except for our lecturers, who are all very tolerant liberal thinkers, many of whom were exiled for their "radical" thoughts during apartheid. Whenever we go out, we get a whole new perspective on white south africans. Whenever we tell them about what we're doing and where we're living, we get a horrified reaction. For example, one woman last night in response to learning that we're going to the rural areas said "you're going to get raped and killed!" Not true. Violence is a lot more common in the cities here and I have no doubt that I'll be just fine out there with the elephants. So don't worry, mom. Few of the white south africans have ever really experienced the rural life, so it's a lot of assumptions being thrown about.
Another very prominent observations from my nights out here is the distinct racial boundaries in these social spaces. The places we go tend to have mixed races, but people rarely interact. My group of friends has befriended a group of guys from Cato that we go out with quite often. All of us Americans are white and when we dance with our black South African friends, all heads turn. For me to dancing with a black guy is still pretty taboo here, which is really sad. And so we try to do it as much as possible. I'm learning a lot from south africa, so I figure I can teach them a few things too, and breaking down racial barriers is a good thing to teach.
So this morning I'm headed about 8 hours north. Erin and I are packed up and ready to go. I'm not sure how my blackberry reception will be, so if you don't hear from me in the next few weeks, don't worry too much! I'll be working hard in the hospital and hopefully seeing some elephants in my free time! Sala kahle!

I miss you, Villanova!

2009-10-26T23:08:00.000+02:00

Today, we had oue final two lectures. We're wrapping up the school part of the semester and heading out to do research for the next month. These lectures were among the best I've had all semester, so I'll share a little bit about them.
The first lecture was on cultural relativism and medical ethics. It was extremely interesting. I find that ethics can be a bit dry when you're talking about theories inside the classroom, but when you're living in a dilemma of cultural relativism 24/7, it all gets a whole lot more interesting. One of the debates we entered into was how much 'immersion' was necessary when visiting a different culture. That is, how much are you supposed to give up of your own cultural norms to adapt in respect of someone else's culture? The example that came up was the wearing of skirts. In Zulu culture, it is generally considered disrespectful for women to wear pants and scandelous to wear shorts that comr above the knee. Why? Well, according to one mama in Cato, "if you wear pants, it means you think you're equal to men, and they don't like that." Well, I certainly don't want to offend the culture that's adopting me for a few months, but at the same time, I absolutely feel that I am every bit equal (and sometimes better) than men! I'm the product of the girl power movement, I can't help it. I was raised on Mia Hamm and the Spice Girls (not role models, but examples of girl power) and am living testimony to Title IX, so to me, gender equality is a very strong value that I'm not willing to give up eaily. In fact, I've many times wanted to wear pants just on principle. Yet, in formal Zulu cultural spaces, this would be very disrespectful, so I often adopt their cultural practices on the outside in order to fit in but maintain my same ideology on the inside. True, what I use to cover my rear end isn't a life or death situation, but it's just one of those daily dilemmas that one comes across when you're in unfamiliar territory.
Okay, too much example. What I loved most about the ethics lecture were the ETHICS. I took an ethics class last semester at Villanova and absolutely loved it. Ethics isn't a very common requirement, so I'm pretty sure that I was the only student in the lecture who had heard this stuff before, as it was a little like a dumbed down version of different ethical perspectives. I was thoroughly impressed with myself that I remembered Peter Singer and Garrett Hardin, etc. And I realized then and there how thankful I am for my Villanova education. All of the other American students in my program go to different universities from all around the country. We're a pretty diverse group of people. We're also a bunch of nerds who love school a little too much and we end up talking about it a lot. From all of the conversations I've had, no one else is getting the same balanced education that I am. Few are required to take any type of religion or philosophy classes and none have the option of a peace and justice studies major like I do. None are forced to take ethics, which relate to life no matter which career path you head down. I've slowly become so much more appreciative of my education, especially the Catholic influenced elements, as I've been here. Knowing what the ethics lecturer was talking about because I remembered Dr. W saying the same thing in January was absolutely priceless. I feel that in order to be fully educated, we must challenge every part of our intellect, leaving no area untouched. I'm truly thankful that Villanova has done that for me. Between this newfound appreciation for my university and the fact that I'm currently trying to write an academic paper on Vitamin A decificiency without a library is making me seriously miss conventional academia. I never thought I'd look forward to my corner on the third floor of the library, but I've come to realize that this semester has been a great break and time for some perspective and I know that when I return to Villanova in January, I'll be ready to dive into my academic pursuits head first with the confidence that I'm receiving one of the best educations one can receive.

Thinking Outside the Box

2009-10-22T14:38:00.000+02:00

Health care is ridiculously complicated and messy. It’s that way in the U.S. where insurance pays for this but not that and this drug is okay because the pharmaceutical company is courting your doctor but the other one is not, etc. I could go on and on. It’s messy here, too, where we’ve got a stable democratic government barely up on its feet (it’s only been 15 years since the end of apartheid) and one that’s only recently recognized the full consequences of the AIDS crisis. There are so many problems that I’ve learned about, we have a new lecture every day about something or another that South Africa struggles with: malaria, malnutrition, diabetes, hypertension, water and sanitation, ARV roll-out (that’s AIDS drugs), TB and AIDS co-infection which can be a death sentence if not treated, lack of doctors willing to stay in country, traditional healers conflicting with western medicine… You name it, we’ve heard about how much of a problem it is. And every expert and specialist has their own cause that appears to be the worst problem in all of Africa. What’s rare (and this is anywhere, it’s not specific to SA) is the doctor or expert who can recognize the problem for what it is, be critical of how it’s handled, but with complete honesty and truth give their opinion and provide the innovation to look at the situation from a different perspective. I don’t care what your interest is, health care or not, we all get stuck in our own paradigms. Once you dig that hole, it’s almost impossible to get out.
Before I go ranting too much, let me describe where I’m coming from. I visited McCord Hospital in Durban yesterday. McCord was originally a missionary hospital started by an American doctor. They survived the apartheid while treating Africans by getting funding from the sympathetic western world instead of from the racist government. We met the most amazing doctor there. She specializes in HIV/AIDS, which is definitely one of the most challenging careers a South African doctor can choose. As she says, “This disease wasn’t even around when I was in med school, I’ve done all my learning first hand from the disease itself.” She was also one of the most opinionated doctors I’ve met here. In South Africa, there is propaganda EVERYWHERE to be responsible about your HIV status: ‘use a condom and get tested’ is the message. Now, the availability of condoms is still a little questionable, but improving from what I’ve heard. As far as HIV testing, the only accepted method is ‘voluntary counseling and testing’ or VCT for short. With VCT, you can’t be tested without your consent and you’re also given pre- and post-test counseling. The system comes from the US, and on first thought it makes sense: we’re all about our personal freedoms and choices and the counseling is more about education about the virus than it is about dealing with the emotional responses to one’s test results. Good: let’s make it an encouraged choice and provide a little support and lots of education to complement it. It all sounds good, but is it effective?
Well, VCT doesn’t always work (this is all according to Dr. G, our innovative doctor). Apart from the horror stories about counselors knowingly infecting their partners with HIV (yes, this happens), there’s a HUGE amount of stigma that comes with this disease here. You’d think in a place where HIV is so common people would get over it a little bit easier, but it’s definitely the opposite. In KwaZulu-Natal, the province I’m in, about 25% of people have HIV. The stigma that stems from it being a STI in the first place and also a disease that’s associated with poverty here creates a big problem when it comes to people getting ‘voluntarily’ tested. No one wants to get tested, even when they feel the symptoms of the virus in their body. Many die in denial, never even knowing. Others (especially women) feel like they can get tested but can’t tell their partners to get tested or reveal their status for fear of domestic abuse. There’s also a huge stigma towards getting your children tested if you, as an adult, are HIV positive because assuming children are not involved with IV drug use or consensual sex, there’s only two ways they can have it: from the mother during birth or from sexual abuse. So, many people die never knowing what they’re dying of because they refuse to get tested.
Well, Dr. G says, this is not acceptable. What we need to do is NORMALIZE HIV testing. Make it as routine as getting on the scale when you go in to the doctor for any other ailment or check-up. We don’t need to publicize everyone’s status, that’s still a little private, but if everyone who sees the doctor must at least know their own status, the judgments and stigmas about HIV/AIDS will die down. Furthermore, if more people get tested, more people get treated, and with treatment your ability to infect others decreases. AIDS, she says, is no longer a terminal disease. It is a chronic disease-- manageable but not curable, and we should treat it as such.
And so, anyone who steps through Dr. G’s pre-natal clinic gets tested. They can still opt out of the testing (as is lawful), but it’s treated as any other test and done along with your normal clinical tests. No fuss, no hush-hush. The results? A lot more get tested, a lot more get treatment, a lot more babies get born HIV negative, and we work to normalize this disease that used to be an immediate death sentence and resulted in being shunned from the rest of society like a leper in biblical times.
I have no doubt that if Dr. G’s theories were more widely practiced, the results would be the same. It doesn’t take much—just a person willing to step out of their own shoes and look at problems from a different perspective. People in the business world do this all the time when thinking about cost-efficiency. Why can’t we think about people-efficiency? Innovation and paradigm shifts are good for everyone. I firmly believe that HIV/AIDS and every other health problem in the developing world won’t be solved with biomedicine. We have the drugs and surgical procedures to treat most of the people that die in Africa every day. If in the future all doctors were about to think from a social perspective and approach problem-solving outside of their realm of memorized medical knowledge like Dr. G at McCord Hospital or Dr. Paul Farmer, maybe we’d get somewhere in this business of saving lives. Being such a doctor has and continues to be my dream, and meeting amazing doctors such as these suggests that it really is possible to make an impact.

Sorry!

2009-10-22T13:39:00.002+02:00

My apologies if you have been checking my blog and are disappointed in the lack of posting. I'm currently focusing on preparing my research proposal, which is due tomorrow, so I've been staying in my apartment and staring at my computer. There's not anything culturally interesting to report from my couch, so I haven't been reporting anything at all. The only news is that my roommates are wonderful people and that I made them banana-chocolate chip-pecan cake with cream cheese frosting last night while I was procrastinating. The only thing else I've been doing is reading medical journal articles and writing more than I have all semester. That is not to say I haven't been learning-- I'm realizing being here that sometimes our conventional American system of education that includes memorizing and regurgitating information is not the best way to learn. Anyways, more to come after this weekend hopefully, but until then, I'm sorry for my lack of posting.

ISP Plans

2009-10-20T14:34:00.000+02:00

Yesterday I was able to meet with the leading expert on rural health care in South Africa. He’s agreed to be my advisor for my ISP, which I’m pretty excited about because he knows everything and everyone in rural health care in this province, it’s pretty cool. He’s given me lots of contacts and ways to get to do my research. I’ve decided to go to Manguzi hospital, which is on the border of Mozambique. If you want to see the website, go to www.manguzihospital.org. I’ll be travelling with another American student, Erin, and we’ll be staying at a local backpackers’ lodge, which has the basic amenities but nothing more. We’ll be near the beach and there’s an elephant park nearby, which is awesome.
The thing I’m really excited about is diving into my research though. I’ve decided to study mobile clinics that provide primary care and look at how they compare to stationary clinics in the services they provide, the ways they are staffed, the equipment and supplies they can carry, and especially how they are perceived by the communities they visit. I’ve decided on this topic because I’m really interested in rural primary care. I also happen to be of the belief that health care is absolutely a human right. South Africa’s constitution actually states that people have a right to health (tell that to our American congress) but there are still huge issues with inequalities here. This is especially true in rural areas where it isn’t ‘cost effective’ for the government to provide the same quality of care for everyone. Basically, the way it goes is if you live within walking distance of a clinic (and that means within 3 hours walking distance), you’re lucky and you can see a nurse when you need to. If not, you’re SOL and must wait for the mobile clinic to come around, which can be once a week, once a month, once every few months, whatever—it’s out of your control. And when it does, you better hope there are the resources to treat whatever you’ve got. And don’t even think about seeing a doctor. Doctors visit stationary clinics once a week, but almost never travel with mobile clinics. These are what the stories, anecdotes, and studies say. I’m really excited to experience it for myself and learn the real story.

Living on the Beach

2009-10-19T08:26:00.000+02:00

Last Thursday I moved into an apartment on the beach with three of my friends. Academically, we’re in the part of the program where we’re really preparing for our Independent Study Projects (ISPs) and we’ve moved out of Cato Manor. So before we all head out to different areas of the country to conduct research, it’s nice to have two weeks to relax and have our own space, especially when that space is located on the beach. I’m living in an apartment with three of my friends, Sara, Emily, and Hannah. Our apartment isn’t too upscale, but it’s got the basic amenities, is clean, and has a balcony where I can watch all the surfers in the ocean and see all the way down the coastline. It’s really beautiful. There are restaurants, bars, and small amusement parks along the beach, too, plus some hotels, so it’s not very quiet, but still a lot of fun.
Even though we’re in Africa, it’s still not ‘beach weather’ time. It’s still early spring here, so the water is a bit chilly and the sky is often overcast. Also, nobody goes to lay out on the beach here. There are the surfers who are continuously in the water and some school children playing in the waves, but the beach isn’t a big attraction to the locals at this time of year. So I haven’t actually been in the ocean, though we walk and run along it quite often. What I’m really enjoying about the apartment is having my own space to do my work in and cooking for myself. All four of us stayed in this weekend to relax, watch movies, and cook our own healthy food (or, in my case, making much-needed salads, Cato deprived me of all vegetables). I left to run, visit an internet café, go to a craft fair on the beach, and go to church. That’s it. It’s been really relaxing, especially as we gear up for our ISPs which will begin in two weeks and are busy preparing our proposals and doing research. I’m excited to get to the rural hospital but for the time being I’m really enjoying my view of the ocean.

Amatikulu

2009-10-18T11:43:00.000+02:00

Sorry for the long delay in posting here. I was in the rural area for awhile and since being back things have been really hectic. Anyways, on to my experiences:

On Monday we headed for a region called Amatikulu located about an hour and a half outside of Durban. The drive out was beautiful. We reached the clinic in the afternoon and got to speak with the head of the community health workers. A community health worker is an integral part of the health care sytem that is extremely cost effective and used in a lot of developing countries. They're required to have passed their matric, the SA version of a high school diploma and have to go throught about a month of training. They're approved and accepted by the community as well. These (mostly) women are not trained nurses but really help to bridge communication between the clinic and the people. The main responsibility of a CHW is to visit people in their homes. In Amatikulu, each CHW has about 80 households they must look after. They travel on foot to their households and check in on the health of the families. They also educate people in their homes about different health issues and if a family needs medical care, they help them get access it. In some places, CHW's are responsible for making sure people take their ARV's (medicine if you've got AIDS) or TB meds. In Amatikulu, the CHW's were also responsible for helping out in the clinic about once a week and facilitating support groups for people afflicted by specific diseases.
Each pair in our group was assigned to live with and shadow a CHW. My friend Sonika and I went home with our new mama, Sibongile. Except that she wasn't really a mama because she's 25 and is called Ntombi, which means girl. So we called her sisi (sister) instead of mama. Unlike our last rural homestay, this family loved to feed us. We got the best meals ever and they really treated us like guests. The home was again set up like a homestead with several different huts. We were given our own hut with a double bed to sleep in. It was clean, minus the ants and lizards. There was another living-room type hut where we were served all our meals. The first night Ntombi cooked us amadombolo, which is bread and breaded chicken fried in a curry-type mixture. It was delicious. Also, that first night it started raining and absolutely poured. Sonika and I ran from dinner to our little hut and watched out the window as a small river curled around us. Now, I really love thunder storms, and this probably topped even the tropical storm that hit my family while camping on the beach a few years ago. There was literally a mud river outside and no electricity at all, which meant our one candle flickered every time the wind blew a little bit too hard through the cracks. In addition to the rolling thunder, the thin tin roof amplified the sound of every falling rain drop. When you have no electricity, bed time comes when the sun goes down. We layed in our little hut at 7:00 pm with the water running all around us and eventually managed to fall asleep.
The next morning the sun was out and we were able to see a little bit. Ntombi, who lives with her three sisters, one brother, 5 year old son, 1 year old nephew, and aging mother also lives without electricity or running water. The family has a neat little pit latrine, accompanied by some small lizards. They cook on a gas camping stove and just use candles for light. They collect rain water and store it in huge barrels.
That morning the sun was out we woke up early, were brought warm water to wash with, served breakfast of palony and butter sandwiches and hardboiled eggs. Palony is like balogna, just much pinker and more processed-tasting. We set out with Ntombi to visit her patients. We visited 6 households and had to walk up lots of dirt paths, about 15-20 minutes between each house. The households ranged from very traditional round huts to more westernized houses like in Cato Manor. We didn't visit any extremely ill people, so Ntombi did a lot of education. She picked one topic to speak about at each house and taught about the ailments themselves with prevention strategies. Some of the topics she spoke about were TB, clean water, cholera, and keeping babies safe. She mostly spoke to older women (called gogos in zulu, it means grandmother) because men aren't very accepting of female CHW's teaching them about health and if you've ever read Jeffrey Sachs or Nicholas Kristof or Amartya Sen, it's pretty well accepted that in order to keep children healthy, fed, and educated, you must keep their mothers healthy, fed, and educated. Women kind of run things in the third world, though it's very under the surface. Very interesting. We also stopped at a few tuck shops to put up notices about when the next mobile clinic would roll through. We were probably only out for 5 hours, but all the walking in the African sun was exhausting. We returned home and were able to relax and read the afternoon away.
The next day, we awoke even earlier and waited about 45 minutes for a minibus to come by to take us to the clinic. I should probably mention that we were way out in the middle of nowhere. People live fairly spread out and there were lots of sugarcane fields or gardens to separate the homesteads. Also, almost no one owns a car, so you walk a lot or wait for the one minibus to come by. Our sisi was pretty lucky to have a CHW job, because it seemed that everyone else was just doing subsistence farming. I saw one tractor that was probably older than anyone in the community. Farming here is done with a hoe and a strong back. That's about it. I digress. We got to the clinic eventually, got the quick tour and were told it was diabetes/hypertension day. Once a month, all the gogos with diabetes or hypertension come into to get their weight, blood pressure, blood sugar checked, see a nurse and pick up their medicine. They wait in the line outside the clinic for hours. We immediately got put to work helping out. I was in charge of taking everyone's blood pressure. It was pretty easy. They had a machine so I didn't have to do it manually. The bp's that I saw were shocking. One woman had a bp of 232/117 with a pulse of 46. We were amazed she had managed to walk to the clinic that morning. There were about 200 people there, most of them gogos. The excess disease is basically due to poor nutrition and non-existent nutrition education. The CHW's helped out taking everyone's stats and recording them on their medical cards. Confidentiality here isn't a big deal. It probably should be, but there's simply not room or staff to keep a confidential medical system. Things we might freak out about in the US are commonplace here. Like everyone knowing your blood pressure and weight because it's done in the open with everyone there outside the clinic. I can't really figure out which is worse, our overly sensitive privatized system, or their completely open one.
After the gogos were all seen, we waited another hour for a minibus to take us home. We spent the afternoon playing with Ntombi's son, Pamandla and reading. Again, we went to bed by 7. The next morning, we got picked up by Thula, who brought our group to visit a sangoma/traditional healer before heading back to Durban. I'm currently living on the beach, but more about that in the next post.

Weekend in Durban

2009-10-11T15:57:00.002+02:00

Hello from the Happy Hippo Hostel! We're staying at a hostel in Durban. Yesterday, we got here and after settling in, I went with a few friends to the Victoria St. Market. It's a pretty authentic urban African market. They sell a lot of touristy things there too, but there are also sangomas selling imiti (traditional medicine components- herbs and dead animal parts) and curry vendors and lots of people selling different household goods. Plus your average fruit and vegetable stands. I started some Christmas shopping :)
We took the bus back and then I made dinner in the Happy Hippo with my friends Sara and Charlotte. We made pasta with pesto sauce and tomatoes, asparagus, and mushrooms. It was delicious and wonderful to have a dinner without anything that was fried in large amounts of oil or curry powder.
Then a lot of us went out to a bar called the News Cafe and then moved on a to gay bar that our gay friend Billy convinced us would be lots of fun. Not the best experience ever, it was pretty awkward but we danced a little bit and then left early.
This morning I woke up early and finally got to go to a mass in English! I've officially mastered the bus system of Durban and was able to get back to the Victoria St. Market. The Emmanuel Cathedral was just a few blocks away and I found it pretty easily. It was fantastic to hear a mass that I could really understand and the cathedral wasn't as ornate as most cathedrals. After mass, a nice guy chatted me up and walked me back to the bus station and left a little upset that he didn't get my number. I returned just in time to go out with my friends for a breakfast of waffles and ice cream, fantastic.
Today everyone's just hanging out at the Hippo and I'm trying desperately to upload pictures but failing miserably because the internet is not very reliable here. It's been a low-key day and we're all just hanging out and getting ready for our second rural excursion. I leave for Amatikulu tomorrow where I'll be living with a community health worker and shadowing them until Thursday. I'll be without internet until then.
New updates on my ISP: I'm currently trying to decide between going to a rural hospital in either the Eastern Cape or up along the Mozambique border. We'll see. I have to make up my mind this week, I'll keep you posted!

More about the commune

2009-10-09T22:54:00.002+02:00

Several people have asked me questions about the hippie commune I visited last week and while the lifestyle wasn't appealing to me. I'll try to answer as best I can...
1. My main complaint was that there were children there, many of whom have lived their whole lives on the commune. There were 9 kids and a few of them were sent to school, but many of the parents couldn't afford school and therefore taught the kids themselves. These kids lacked a lot of social skills and were academically way behind. My mom's kindergarten stories have educated me enough to know that at age 7, a child should be able to read at least some small words. This wasn't happening. Also, a few of the children complained that they didn't like living there and that it got lonely. I feel that to deprive your child of at least witnessing mainstream society is wrong and that you'd be doing them a huge diservice for the rest of their lives. If you choose the hippie life for your adult self, that's fine, but don't subject your kid to social isolation and lack of knowledge.
2. Self sufficiency. In theory, living off the land sounds great. In practice, not so much. It's just not really a doable thing especially here in sa where the soil isn't all that fertile and everyone isn't dedicated to back-breaking labor. One thing that realy bothered me was that they all preached this philosophy, yet employed local zulu men to work the land and build their dwellings. At one point Samantha, the head hippie, said "we call it lazy farming, we try to get the best results that we can with doing the least amount of work." I wanted to tell her that agribusiness has already figured out the most efficient way to farm and that she should just accept the specialization that the industrial revolution brought to the world. You can still be green and eco-friendly without growing every piece of food yourself.
3. Exclusivity vs. Inclusivity. The commune life preaches the whole "we are all one big family" thing, but in reality, it's a bunch of white foreigners who bought out the most fertile acreage of zulu land. Some are white South Africans but at least half are British, American, French, etc. You can't be one big family when it costs a fortune to buy a share of the commune and everyone else in a 50 mile radius can't afford to step onto the property. Let's be real. Also, being an exclusive all-white community in the middle of zulu land is not the best way to make friends with the neighbors.
4. Separation. I've learned in my various experiences here that I much prefer the rural mountains to the townships, just by the nature of living. I've decided that I never want to live in a place where you can't see the stars at night or breathe fresh air. That being said, I appreciate the solitude and being a little distant from the rest of the world. However, you can't just pretend the world and all its problems don't exist! To shut oneself into a little bubble where even internet and newspapers can't reach you is a terrible thing. I firmly believe that we all have an obligation to make the world a better place. There are a lot of people hurting out there and if we pretend they dpn't exist so that we can be happier, well, shame on us. Now, this happens everywhere. It happens at villanova and it happens in longmeadow. I've lived in so many bubbles in my life, that I'm thoroughly disgusted by the thought of choosing to draw boundaries around myself and pretend that other peoples' pain isn't real, and that's exactly what happens in the commune.
Now, my reasons for not wanting to live the commune life is not because they all have pretty nasty dreads or that the whole thing smells like incense and pot or even that they're all just a little bit crazy. It's the whole paradigm and all it's contradictions that I can't stomach. And that is why I will never be a hippie. The end.
P.s. I'm pretty sure this revelation has made my father very proud, as I'm not sure how his conservative heart would handle it if I rejected all that is capitalism and rationality and went to go live with the rainbow people, as they call themselves. :)

"Distance Makes the Heart Grow Fonder"

2009-10-09T14:57:00.002+02:00

Distance makes the heart grow fonder. My mom's been saying it to me since I was 12 and "fell deeply in like" as my dad used to say and couldn't stand to be away from some boy for a week in the summer. The boys of middle school are long forgotten but the lesson is not. I realized in my time away from Cato Manor this past week that I'm not quite ready to leave yet. When I returned home to Cato, and yes Cato is home now, my sister Khansilye greeted me with lots of love and didn't leave my side the entire time. My mama was thrilled to see me when she returned from work and couldn't stop telling me how much she missed me. I realized over the weekend how close I have grown to this family and how much love they have shown me in the past five weeks. I'm not ready to leave them, yet I have to leave. Tonight is my last night in Cato and I'm rather sad. I hope I'll be able to visit my family in the few weeks I'm living in downtown Durban after I return from Amatikulu, but nothing is ever for certain here. Being a homestay student has really reaffirmed my faith in the goodness of humanity. The care that my mama and sisters have taken for me while I have been here cannot be expressed. From her concern when I was violently ill with food poisoning to the fact that my sisters show so much appreciation for my baking, they've really gone beyond my expectations. For a family charged with the responsibilities of my room and board, they've completely adopted me into their family and I could not be more thankful for that. If anyone reading this ever gets the chance to take in a traveling person or be that traveling person, I would definitely encourage it-- it's been an unforgettable experience.
And so, as I move on to new accommodations and new experiences (say hello to even more rural Amatikulu and then a flat on the beach with some roomates) I'll never forget my Cato family and the kindness they have shown.
I've realized that sometimes not being ready to move on is a great thing; it means that you're happy enough where you are to stay in that same place for a little bit longer. So, I'm not quite ready to leave Cato, but I am looking forward to new things and so as I end my time in Cato, I'll always have a special place in my heart for this family and this community who have adopted me and the rest of us Americans as their own.

Playing Catch Up on Last Weekend's Adventures

2009-10-08T13:58:00.001+02:00

I have returned! I’m sorry for anyone reading this who thought I had disappeared. I did, sort of.
On Saturday morning our SIT group left in two big vans to drive up into the Drakensberg Mountains. It was a beautiful drive and it felt amazing to get out of the city and finally breathe in some fresh air. On the way up there we visited the house where Mahatma Gandhi lived during his time in South Africa. Like Nelson Mandela’s house, it wasn’t much in terms of a physical monument, but you could really feel the way the people cherish his memory there and respect what it stands for.
We finally reached our little cabin in the Drakensbergs. The scenery was absolutely beautiful. We had a little house with lots of bunkbeds nestled in between these huge towering mountains. There was a stream running through the mountains and we got to go exploring for a little bit before the sun set. It was a beautiful day and we all just enjoyed playing in the water and sitting in the sun. That night, our academic director and his assistant/driver/translator/doer of all things, Sdu, helped us braii dinner over a charcoal fire. It was great to have real non-oily un-curried food again. We devoured our barbequed chicken and huge salad. That night, we all enjoyed s’mores and the alcohol that everyone had picked up on the way there. As a side note, I am learning how to be a social drinker here and bought beer (or cider rather, women in Africa don’t drink beer) for the first time ever. Dad, you would be so proud. We attempted to sleep out under the stars and full moon, but mother nature ruined our plans and we had to head back inside to the bunks.
The next morning, I woke up before everyone else and got to watch the sunrise from a small precipice next to our cabin. The solitude was wonderful, especially after being surrounded by everyone in Cato and then again in the cabin. After joining everyone for breakfast, we headed up the mountain in search of some cave paintings. It was a 2 hour hike up and not everyone made it, but the view from the top was spectacular. We were able to see some paintings by the Khoi San people from the 1700-1800s that were pretty cool. The hike itself was awesome. It was good to be able to really stretch my legs. I, being the competitive one, led the expedition upwards and kept the pace pretty challenging. It was kind of like running stairs in the pavilion back at Nova, but with fresh air, at a higher altitude, and much more enjoyable. I did miss my stair-running buddies (Jill!) though.
After hiking back down the mountain, I got my first, much-needed, hot shower of the month (the cabin had hot water but no electricity, weird) and then relaxed and chatted with everyone until we had another delicious dinner from the grill. There was a lot of group bonding going on and it was nice to be able to do it without worrying about school work and due dates and such. We unfortunately, had to sleep inside again because of the rain that night.
The next morning, I woke up early with about six others and we hiked up another mountain to watch the sunrise. Some clouds came in and blocked our view, but we were still able to see morning break and the fog lift on the farms and valleys down below. At the top, we were greeted by a troop of baboons. We just hung out and watched them and the moving clouds for about an hour until we got hungry and headed back down for breakfast.
Later that day, we all packed up and moved out into our rural homestays. We split the group in half and went to two rural villages. I was in Impendle. I stayed with my friend Sonika in a small hut down a cowpath. We stayed with our mama, Anastasia, who spoke zero English, her 17 year old daughter, Nelisiwe, and her grandson, Lihle. Nelisiwe spoke a little bit of English, but when she was at work communication was a little tough. Sonika was afraid of eating bad meat so we told her we were vegetarians, which the family could not comprehend and thus ended up cooking for ourselves the rest of the week. We survived off of egg sandwiches and rice and beans with tea. Not too bad considering they kept barely any food in the house. The house itself was actually 3 huts and a long-drop toilet, plus dwellings for the two dozen chickens and goats that roamed about. We stayed in the western-style (rectangular) hut that had two beds, a tv, and a small wardrobe. The roof was made of beams made from tree branches and corrugated metal and the walls were of mud bricks. It was pretty tidy minus a few bugs and we slept pretty soundly on our double bed. The rest of the family slept on bed or the floor in the other room. The other two huts were the traditional circular style with thatched roofs. One was the “kitchen” with a stove and an empty refrigerator plus all of the family’s clothes piled on one side. The third hut was empty except for a fire in the middle and lots of herbs and dried animal horns hanging from the ceiling. We guessed that our mama was an isangoma (traditional healer) but couldn’t really ask her because of the language barrier. As for the long drop toilet, it was a pit with rusted corrugated tin over it and a small wooden box to sit on. Pluses: you can see the stars while you pee, minuses: I always felt like I might fall in and the flies aren’t so pleasant.
During the day, we did lots of different things. The first day we started off by learning about the eco-tourism venture they’re trying to start in the village and helping plant some trees in the garden of one of the pre-schools. It was all led by Sam, a female American full-fledged hippie who lives on a commune near Impendle. I usually hate contributing towards what I consider fake community service (the kind where they try to get you to feel like you’re helping, but you’re really not) but it was enjoyable and we got to learn a lot from the local gardening women who were working with us. Everyone was super impressed with my ability to carry a bucket of water on my head without spilling and mix soil (thank you, Haitian men, for teaching me correctly) and I even got offered labola not because I’m pretty or white or American, but because I’m a “hard worker”. After tree-planting, we got to play with some of the kids in the pre-school and we played soccer with the women who had been working with us. We then drove in the back of Sean’s pick up truck (Sean is another hippie who lives on the commune with Sam) to our lunch, catered by a local women’s group trying to become part of the tourism venture in Impendle. It was pretty good and afterwards a local dance group danced for us. To wrap up the day, we got to visit with a group of Home Care Givers, women who visit housebound people in the village, especially those dying of AIDS or TB and help them with daily living. These women don’t get paid at all and their caring spirits were inspiring.
On Wednesday we started the day with visiting the Gomane Clinic in Impendle, which is staffed by a dozen nurses and a doctor who comes once a week. The nurse who spoke to us was pretty awesome and their efficiency and what they’re able to do with very little resources. The more I see of these small clinics and NGOs, I’m finding that what it really comes down to is having a strong person in charge. With a creative, innovative person at the helm of the organization, the amount of resources doesn’t matter quite so much. I hope someday that I might be able to be such a person.
The rest of the day was spent visiting local crafters (beading, leather work, etc.) and then visiting Sam’s commune. I’m not going to bore you with the details, but needless to say, I will NEVER live on a commune and I’ve come to the conclusion that raising children in such an environment is a terrible idea.
I’m sorry that this has been such a long post, but I wanted to catch up on what I’ve been doing. Plans for the future: I’m moving back to Cato for two nights (Thursday and Friday), will then say goodbye to my family and live at the Happy Hippo (backpackers hostel) for two nights and will then leave for Amatikulu, another rural village for the majority of next week. I’ll have super internet service at the Happy Hippo and hopefully I’ll be able to put up some photos for everyone to see. I’ll keep you posted on a web address for those!

Love

2009-10-01T19:58:00.000+02:00

While I was in Zulu class today, my friend who was sitting behind me started crying. She had just gotten an e-mail telling her that 4 girls from her rowing team had been in an accident on their way to practice this morning. They were hit by an eighteen wheeler. Two of them died and two are still in critical condition. They were freshmen.
As a rower, this hit pretty close to home. To think of the hundred and thousands of time we drive the same roads to practice and never even imagine the horror that it would be for that to happen. For anything tragic to happen to anyone that I love while I'm half way across the world would be devestating. If it were to happen to my team or my friends or my family, I'd be on the next plane out of here, no question. Sometimes being so disconnected over here gets tough, especially on days like today. So, I figure that if you're reading this, you're someone pretty close to me or close to someone that's close to me. If I haven't told you lately that I love you, I love you. And if you haven't told someone that you love them today, pick up the phone now. Because we are all a little disconnected at times and it only takes a second for it all to be over, even if you're a freshman in college on the way to rowing practice at 6 am. It's something that we don't say enough, and we shouldn't be afraid to say it. To my family, my friends, my team (who are both my family and my friends), I love you all.

Questioning With Some Perspective

2009-10-01T14:19:00.000+02:00

In the abortion debate, I’ve always been ‘pro-life’, ‘anti-abortion’, whatever you want to call it. I believe it is wrong to kill an unborn child because that unborn child has a soul, is blessed by God, and therefore abortion is murder. It’s the way I see it: everyone has a right to life, no exceptions. But along with all of my other beliefs, this one comes from the perspective of an educated, upper class American female. It is almost impossible to separate these values from our cultural perspectives. My belief in the right to life comes from my religious faith as well as from my upbringing in America; this is clearly a cultural perspective. Things like this change once you leave your own paradigm and enter into someone else’s. For example, if one begins to look at the abortion issue not from a Roe v. Wade American perspective but from a global health perspective, things look a little different. For example, 13% of maternal deaths are caused by unsafe abortions each year worldwide. Further, in many places, women hold so little power in their communities and within their relationships that they cannot negotiate any other forms of family planning. If a woman falls pregnant (to use South African terminology) in a place of deep poverty, it is often not by her choice. But what happens if a mother is HIV positive and has no access to ARVs? What happens if she already has 9 children and cannot feed them as it is? What about women who live in cultures where early-marriage is a custom and her body is not physiologically able to deliver a child, promising her a fistula and thus a life of shunning and infection? (Google Nicholas Kristof’s reporting on fistulas, it’ll shock you) What happens if she has no access to obstetric pre-natal care and therefore stands a large chance of dying in childbirth, leaving her remaining children orphaned? My point is that from a right-to-life perspective, we want to provide as many people as possible with life and a quality life at that. But for pregnant women who face a good chance of dying themselves or causing the death of one or more children as a result of a birth, is taking an anti-abortion stance really protecting life? Do we believe that it is better for God to take the mother’s life ‘naturally’ in childbirth to for a child to die from malnutrition ‘naturally’ rather than allowing a woman a medical abortion by swallowing a pill?
I sat in a lecture yesterday where the following questions were asked by an expert on reproductive health. In South Africa, abortions are completely legal and are encouraged all over the place. They’ve also been shown to decrease maternal mortality by huge margins in recent years since legalization. Also, the South African constitution provides for a right to health (Section 27, check it out). I’m holding my ground in my beliefs, but it really makes one think about the perspective with which they look at morality—my ethics professor from last semester would be so proud. When I think of abortion in the U.S., I think of an irresponsible woman who made a mistake and wants to reverse it the easy way. This isn’t a correct assumption and I realize it’s a very dangerous generalization, but that’s what I think of. However, taken with a South African lens or just a global third-world health lens, an unwanted birth often leads to a dead mother, orphaned children, or sick and dying children. Is this giving life? Absolutely not, but it’s also denying life, too, and who wants to make the call over which life is worth throwing away? Certainly not me.
Don’t let this fool you, I’m playing devil’s advocate with myself. The data shows that abortions have been “life-saving health interventions” here in the developing world. I’ve read the stats, it’s true that they’ve made huge dents in maternal mortality and have improved women's health in general. And when women’s health is improved, the lives of their children also improve. It doesn’t give any regard to the souls of unborn children, but it’s pretty evident that it improves the health of those already here and from the South African standpoint, it makes a great deal of sense. This is just one of the many examples that shows how important moving beyond one’s perspective is. It’s tough to do but once we move beyond our own perspectives and are able to greet the other paradigms that exist and even step into them for a short period of time, it increases our awareness and allows us to think more critically about the basis of our own values and beliefs.

School days

2009-09-30T12:02:00.000+02:00

I realized last night that I’ve been telling you all a lot about my cultural experiences, sometimes with too much cynicism, but rarely about my school experiences. I’ll give you the rundown of my typical school day, so you can get an idea about what I’m studying.
I wake up around 5:30 in the morning, my sister Thah has already left for work and my mama’s getting ready to leave. My sister and brother are just getting up themselves and getting ready for school. I get dressed and go outside to meet my friend Elaina for a run. We have a loop that we do every morning that’s about 25 minutes long, but involves lots of up and down hills. 2.5 miles isn’t really enough for me, but something is better than nothing. I get home, cool off, and hop in the bathtub with freezing cold water and wash up as quickly as possible, hop out, and get dressed in my room. My mama has left for work by now and my brother and sister are busy getting themselves and Khanyesile ready for school. I eat breakfast, usually either Wheet-bix or corn flakes with whole milk (yuck) and a spoonful of sugar. I figured out in the first week that diluting my whole milk with water helps a little bit, so I do this a lot. I leave and catch the bus at either 7 am or 7:30, depending on whether it’s my week to be on the early or late bus. It’s about a 10-15 minute ride to school and our faithful driver, Sdu, drives us everyday.
Once I get to the SIT house, I try to grab a good seat (near the front, but not first row), set up my computer, and grab a cup of tea from the kitchen. All of our classes are in the same classroom. The SIT house is just a house in an upper-class white residential neighborhood. We have a kitchen, some laundry facilities, two bathrooms with showers that are a little nasty, a small lounge, and rooms turned into offices for our directors and lecturers. There are thirty of us students and our space isn’t that big so it gets a little cramped, especially at meal times. Once we’re all settled in and have checked our email and facebooks, we have a lecture at 8 am, another at 10:30, and then a break from 12:30-1:30 for lunch, a third lecture at 1:30 and then Zulu lessons from 3:30-5. About once a week one of the lectures is replaced with a discussion group and once a week we get a mall trip during our lunch hour so we can get groceries or do other shopping. Our lectures are diverse in topics and we learn a lot about different subjects every day. For example, today my first lecture was on sanitation, focusing on the intervention of improved pit latrines in urban areas and new technology that can make them better and more hygienic and the intervention has shown to cut episodes of childhood diarrhea in half. (As a note, childhood diarrhea kills a huge number of children under 5 in developing countries) Our second lecture is focused on reproductive health and maternal mortality in developing countries. Then we’ll break for lunch. I’ll walk to the small grocery store down the street to get some lunch supplies and then make a grilled cheese sandwich with fruit or yogurt and granola or something like that. Today after lunch we’ll have a lecture on traditional healers in South Africa. All of our lecturers are fantastic. Often they’re well-connected with the University of Kwa-Zulu Natal, on boards within the WHO (World Health Organization), and many of the ones who speak on political issues were exiled from the country during the apartheid era which is pretty respectable here. Some of the other lectures I’ve already listened to or will listen to this week are: the epidemiology of HIV and the effectiveness of ARVs (anti-retroviral treatment), politics of health promotion, Africanism and African views on health, African masculinities, rights-based approach to health care, and health systems and the role of the state. As you can see, some of these are very specific to South Africa but some are very global topics. There have been a few duds but overall our lectures are really educational and very exciting. Also, once a week we go and have a field trip to some area of SA that has to do with health. For example, we’ve been to schools, NGOs, clinics, museums, etc. and on Friday we’re going to a different area of Durban called Phoenix where we’ll see more of the Indian community here. At the end of the day, Sdu drives us back home and drops us off on Garden Dr., where we live in Cato Manor.
Upcoming events: this weekend we’re going away! On Saturday we’ll leave for a hiking trip in the Drakensburg Mountains, which is supposed to be beautiful and we’ll be able to visit some bushman paintings. From there, we’ll be moving into rural villages where we’ll stay with rural families for 3 nights and shadow a community health worker during the days. If you don’t know what a CHW is, it’s typically a member of the community who is a non-professional but a person who works by traveling to peoples’ homes to check in on their health. These are especially necessary in rural areas where there are no doctors or nurses or where clinical care is not accessible for everyone. CHWs are not professionals but are trained in health education and promotion and are very useful where there are people who need medicines on a regular basis. CHWs often bring households medicines for TB or AIDS and then directly observe them take the medicine to ensure compliance and help answer any questions or can get them help when other health issues come up. I’m really excited to see how much CHWs do and can do and how they’re integrated into the community, it’ll be really interesting. The following weekend we’ll come back to Cato for 2 nights, then to the Happy Hippo Backpackers for 2 nights, and then go to a new rural area to see another CHW and stay with a new family. It’s going to be a whirlwind of 2 weeks, but I’m sure it will be very interesting. Also, I won’t have a whole lot of internet access, so if you don’t hear from me for a little while, don’t be shocked or worried!
Reading update: I finished “Loving Frank”, a historical fiction book about the love life of Frank Lloyd Wright, it was pretty good. To learn more about the phenomenon of CHWs, read Mountains Beyond Mountains by Tracey Kidder. If you’re interested in global poverty, the works of Jeffrey Sachs and Paul Collier are also fantastic and not too academic in nature.

Wedding Crashing

2009-09-28T15:37:00.000+02:00

Crashing weddings is not as much fun as it seems in the movies. Especially when you’re crashing Zulu weddings and are clearly the only Caucasian person there and everyone knows it. I got dragged along to my second wedding this past weekend. The first stop was my mama’s sister’s house, who was the mother of the groom. Thah and I waited there so we could hitch a ride to the wedding which was in Durban. No one was ready to go and so we chilled on the couch for a little bit, watching Big Brother Africa. The first thing I noticed when we arrived was the very large cow’s hide laying in the driveway to dry. And then when we were sitting on the couch watching television and awkwardly not talking to any of her relatives, a man came out of the bathroom carrying the rear end of the cow, dripping blood over the white tile floor. And yes, the tail was still attached. I decided not to ask any questions, because I wasn’t quite sure I wanted to hear the answers. Eventually, we all crowded into very small cars and headed into Durban. Now, the cars were not that small (think Volkswagon Jetta) and I drive a small car myself, so I’m used to not having much room. But never have I sat in the backseat squished between two 200-pound women. It was an experience. We finally arrived at the church, which was upstairs from a Toyota dealership and entered the chapel just as the couple were saying their vows. Thah dragged me over to a section of seating up front that a woman loudly whispered to me “Only for family!” where we sat for the remainder of the ceremony. Now, this was not a Catholic church, nor was it a humble school-house church like my mama goes to, this was a huge Born-again-Praise-the-Lord-Glory-to-God-Hallelujah-church. Now THIS was an experience. We had gospel music coming out of our ears and there were posters on the walls urging youth to volunteer to bring Christ to heathens in America, the whole shebang. Eventually the whole wedding wound itself up and it became clear that we were travelling elsewhere for the reception. Travelling we were. After much delay and waiting around in the 90-degree sun, I got shoved into another small car (big cars don’t exist here) in between two even larger women and travelled a good hour down the coast. I’m not sure exactly where we were, but there was a beautiful golf resort with a view of the sea next to the place where the reception was held. We mingled and eventually sat down. The food was delicious (there was cheesecake for dessert!!) but I also had to endure speeches after speeches. It seemed like at least 50 of the 300 people there got up to talk at some point or another. And these people could talk, although I should say preach. Every phrase was punctuated by “Glory to God,” “Praise the Lord,” or Hallelujah,” to which everyone knew which other phrase of the three to say in response. This was a little bothersome, because for all of this praising and glorying going on, the people didn’t seem to take the time to understand what it was they were saying. To me, you shouldn’t say “Glory to God” without a thought in your mind about giving glory to God. But that’s the way things went. There was a lot of praising and no theology behind what was being said. I realized then that this is what I’ve been missing since being here. I can’t wait to go back to Mass at Villanova and feel like I’m learning something when I’m praying in church. I felt bad for the people there because it all seemed so repetitious; if that was my only spiritual food, I’m not sure I’d really feel fulfilled. They were very intent on converting me though—I got asked a million times if I had been born again. Now, I’m not entirely sure what it means to be ‘born again’ (most of them could quote the date they had been born again at this huge church in Durban called the Jesus Dome. Seriously, it’s called the Jesus Dome) but I figured my baptism, confirmation, and general faith have put me in good standing with God, so I just replied yes to avoid any confusion.
The next day was the day of the Zulu part of the wedding which was huge and basically the same as last weekend, except that I was again, the only white person there and most people were confused on what I was doing. My mama was cooking all day because it was held at her sister’s house and so I got slightly abandoned in the middle of the commotion. I just sat back and observed the singing and the dancing and all of the other traditions that I had observed the past weekend. It was a little awkward, but very interesting all the same. When I asked my mama later that night if there were reasons behind their customs, she just said, “We just do it,” and that was the end of that.

Ulwandle (the beach)

2009-09-26T23:29:00.000+02:00

So Thursday was Heritage Day and our big beach trip. I hadn't been to the beach since January so I was pretty excited. We were told to bring food and that there would be fires available for grilling meat if we wanted to use them. Well, the thought of bringing raw unrefrigerated meat to sit in the hot sun until cooked didn't really appeal to me. I figured that the good 'ole pb and j would suffice, so that's what I brought. One jar peanut butter, one jar jam, loaf of bread, and bag of apples. To share, I wasn't going to eat it all myself.
Wouldn't you know, peanut butter is a completely unacceptable beach food here. My sisters laughed uncontrollably when I told them what I was bringing. (Note: this was also cost effective, I already had all of my supplies) I then watched my sister pack up raw chicken drumsticks, potato salad, and mayonnaise sandwiches. And yes, a mayonnaise sandwich involves a slathering of mayo between two slices of bread. I was not asking to land in the ER again, especially on a public holiday when I figured all of the top doctors would be off celebrating with their families, so I just held my ground and brought my pb and j anyways.
So I guess I was the only one who thought raw meat and the beach were a bad combination because everyone brought meat to braii (that's bbq in south african slang, it rhymes with rye or lie). When we first got to the beach, everyone set up camp about a ten minute walk from the beach itself, so it was really more like a picnic. All of us Americans had our host families in tow and things were a little awkward at first. It took forever for everyone to get the braii fires started and so in the meantime some friends and I went running on the beach, which was absolutely wonderful. I've been running around Cato where there's tons of grabage and pollution and broken glass. Plus lots of cat-calling, etc., so it was nice to run with some freedom again. When we got back from our run, surprise, the fires still weren't started. One thing that has been a theme in my time here is that the phenomenon of 'African time' really does exist. People here just aren't as concerned about being time efficient and hurrying, being on time, or having to wait around. Well, there were 27 of us Americans still, many of whom were annoyed that they couldn't cook their meat and very thankful for my pb and j, which required no charcoal whatsoever. Eventually the fires got started and everyone was able to cook and eat.
After lunch, all of us abelungus started getting anxious to be in the waves. However, my sisters had dressed in jeans and sweaters for the day. When I questioned this, they replied it was normal. I decided that I had done enough family time and that I wasn't going to let them spoil my beach experience. For whatever reason, lots of our zulu families were like this. They didn't even walk down to stick their feet in the sand. And so, we left them to do whatever (sit around some more?) And went frolicking in the water. It was a little chilly, but there were great waves and some pretty cool kite surfers to watch so definitely well worth it. Plus, I can now say I've swam in the Indian Ocean, which is pretty cool. However, note to self: being really sandy without a hot shower to go home to is not pleasant. This is something to avoid in future beach excursions.

In other new, I've been to another wedding this weekend, it'll be written about on Monday, as I still have the traditional part to experience. Wedding crashing is not all its cracked up to be.
Also, I've finished "A Thousand Splendid Suns" which was fantastic and am half way through "Testimony" by Anita Shreve. Oh, and I've discovered a new favorite tea, strawberry-mango, it's delicious. More to come after the weekend's over!

Good tea and good books

2009-09-23T19:41:00.000+02:00

There is no coffee in South Africa. They drink this instant stuff that literally tastes like ground up burnt sweet potatos and not at all like coffee. And so, after years of being addicted to coffee (that being 4 years, since I was 16), I have not had any since I arrived here. They also only drink one kind of tea in this country: African rooibos, which is at best an acquired taste, but a taste I have acquired. My mama drinks it with a whole lot of cream and 7 teaspoons of sugar. Really, I counted once. I usually drink my tea plain at home, sometimes with a little honey, but here I just add a little bit of cream because plain black rooibos is terrible.

There are few distractions or past times in my home. People cook, eat, clean, and watch tv. That is it. They talk to each other too, and I struggle to follow the conversation because it's mainly in zulu. So, for lack of boardgames or internet or other forms of amusement as well as my disdain for the television that seems to have corrupted so many youth here, I have been reading a lot and drinking a lot of tea while I read. I thought I'd share some of my past read books in case anyone was interested. Some of them are about Africa and others not.
Before I left, I read "Long walk to freedom", the autobiography of Nelson Mandela. I would suggest this for anyone interested in learning more about the history of the country, as it is not just a biography of the man but also the biogrpahy of the country he helped to build.
Also, if you want to understand more about what I'm studying or what I want to do with my life in general, I highly suggest you read "Mountains Beyond Mountains" by Tracey Kidder, as it has changed my life in too many ways to tell.
Since I have been here, I have read the three books I brought with me: "The Time Travelers Wife", "Say You're One Of Them", and "Three Cups of Tea". I've also read a few books from the SIT library and what other people have brought with them: "Cry, The Beloved Country", which allows great introspect into this culture, and "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close", which I highly reccommend. I've also been busy reading dozens of articles on public health, epidemiology, community health care, Zulu culture, history of South Africa, etc. It's been great to finally have time to read for knowledge and pleasure without having the daily stresses of intense classes and jam-packed schedules to weigh me down. I'm currently reading "Indigenous Theories of Contagious Disease" which is incredibly interesting but nothing I would ever have the patience or time for in my normal life.
Even though I'm on this very intense academic program where I'm doing two hours of Zulu and four to six hours of lectures a day, I still feel kind of like I'm on vacation where I have time to read leisurely and sip tea. It's a great opportunity to both clear one's mind and think at the same time. So, I've decided that if I ever come near to having a mid-life crisis or something like that, I'll just build my own library and hole up in it for a few months drinking tea and filling my head with new ideas and stories. Forgetting the world and exploring it at the same time is definitely a wonderful way to take a break from it all.

Randoms on SA

2009-09-23T15:00:00.000+02:00

Not much is new here in Cato, the weather has been nasty and everyone is getting sick, not me though! Don’t worry, I am very healthy. So I thought I’d just throw out a few randoms about SA.
#1. Soccer is HUGE here. Maybe it’s just the World Cup craziness that has everyone captivated, but it’s everywhere! There is one channel on TV (SABC1) and on it you can watch pretty much any soccer game you want. Every international game is on, which I find really interesting. Especially when you begin to say, wait, that country can’t feed its citizens, how do they have a soccer team? And learn about new minuscule African countries that you never knew existed. It makes me wish the US had a ‘national’ sport the way SA does. Soccer really brings people together here and it’s a very cool thing to see for a country that has been divided in so many other ways.
#2. “Kwanda” is a community make-over reality TV show. Yes, that’s right, community makeover. And it’s a competition with teams from different communities around South Africa trying to improve their own towns. It advertises itself as being the only television show of its kind and I think it’s awesome. I’ve been really turned off by reality television in the past because I see it as a huge waste of time. Shows like ‘Extreme Makeover: Home Edition’ are great when they can improve peoples’ lives, but to improve the lives of the entire community and empower them to do it themselves is fantastic. I haven’t had time to watch it (it comes on at 10 and that’s way past my bedtime here) but I wanted to share the wonderfulness of this phenomenon anyways. It just makes one think that if we as a society can be creative and invent ways to motivate and empower people to do good for their own communities, especially when those communities are in great need of it, we can create a whole lot of change.
#3. What does it mean to be “African”? This is a great question. We’ve had a ton of fantastic lecturers in my Community Health Seminar, which isn’t actually taught by anyone, we just have 1 or 2 guest lecturers a day. We hear from everyone from medical specialists to those that study culture to people who have studied social phenomena. It’s all very interesting and something that has come up over and over again is what it means to be “African.” This term has been used in the past to describe those people whose ancestors were native to the land and often used to discriminate against them on racial lines. However, in a new South Africa, it’s still used in the context to describe someone with black skin. Our academic director, Zed, as well as other lecturers whose ancestors were not indigenous to Africa (they came from India, Britain, Netherlands, etc.) who wants to call themselves African, but are unable to because it’s not socially acceptable. For example, Zed was born in Zimbabwe, his family has been living on this continent for four generations, yet calling himself “Africans” offends people and so he does not. Further, back when the British Empire was busy colonizing the world, they brought over lots of Indian indentured servants to South Africa to work in the sugarcane fields here. As a result, there are lots of people here, especially in Kwa-Zulu Natal who refer to themselves as “South Africans of Indian Descent” because they are not Indians nor can they truly call themselves Africans. It’s very interesting, especially coming from the US where we so often refer to ourselves as “a quarter Irish, a quarter Ukranian, an eighth Norwegian, and a whole bunch of everything else” (my personal response) and then some people who say “I’m Italian” or “I’m 100% Irish” but have never been to these countries in their lives. In the US, we embrace our American-ness as well as the places our ancestors come from. I hope that in the future, as race tensions lessen and boundary lines disappear with time, the same thing will be possible in South Africa.
#4 Tomorrow is Heritage Day! September 24th is a public holiday. It was originally called Shaka Day to celebrate the great Zulu king who united the Zulu nation before their social structure was destroyed by colonization. It’s now referred to as Heritage day to celebrate all of the cultures that make up South Africa. Some people also call it National Braai Day. A braai (it rhymes with rye) is a barbecue, a great national past time here that usually involves the grilling of a slaughtered goat or cow. We are going to the beach with our families, even though it’s supposed to rain. Oh well, it’s a good excuse to have a day off of school, kind of like a combination of the 4th of July and Labor Day. I’m looking forward to the beach, even if it rains.

Wedding Weekend

2009-09-21T21:26:00.001+02:00

This past weekend I got to experience my first wedding here. A man down the street was getting married, and apparently, it's a whole community affair. This also explains why it was no big deal for me to tag along with my sister. My mama didn't go, she's started working overtime at the factory to prepare for Christmas. Nelo had to babysit so Thah and I got dressed up and I went with her and all her friends. The first part I witnessed was the parade down the street. Literally. The custom is to hire a troop of teenage baton twirlers to lead the groom's car to the wedding. Then we waited around a bit for the right taxi to come and climbed in. We arrived a little late, they were at the vows when we walked in. This was no big deal, as people were chatting and moving about through the whole thing. It was held in a community center and was basically a big concrete building, decorated in blue and white with flashing lights for the occassion. The guests all sat at tables with trays of cheetos on them, it was bizarre to someone who has grown up thinking that weddings take place in churches without exception. Now, after the groom had kissed the bride and all that good stuff, the bridal party left for an hour or so to go take pictures and the guests just milled around or chatted with each other. After what felt like forever, they returned and food was served. The food was pretty good, very much like what I eat for dinner every night. All I can say is that fried chicken will definitely not be served at my wedding. Then, the wedding seemed to end fairly abruptly, as people started cleaning up. No dancing or anything, just clean up and go. It should also be mentioned that my sister's friends were the people who brought their own cooler to the wedding, hid it under our table, and drank the whole time. And once clean up began, we hung out outside on the steps while they polished off what ciders were left and absorbed some of the leftovers flowing from the kitchen. Finally, after the alcohol was gone, we finally left via taxi and I returned home to my mama who wanted to see all of the pictures I took right away.
Sunday was part 2: the traditional ceremony. The groom had a huge tent set up in his front yard and everyone congregated there, just hanging out passing around a pot of zulu beer, which is the most foul tasting and smelling liquid I have ever encountered. It's typically brewed in a bucket in someone's bathroom and has solid particals floating around in a grayish liquid. It's absolutely disgusting. Just as we were staring to give up on the traditional wedding experience, someone dragged a goat in. This was to be dinner. We watched as it got slaughtered in the front yard. It was a pretty violent affair that involved the slitting of the throat, skinning, and gutting the animal. Then we watched the bride open her gifts, which are lots and lots of blankets. I don't really understand the custom, but I guess you're required to give blankets. Then the bride and her two bridesmaids did a traditional dance. All this time the meat was cooking on a fire in the back of the house. They brought it out on big platters and small circles of people gathered around each one. One woman would take a knife and cut the goat meat into small pieces and place them on a plate that was then passed around the circle. There were no utensils, napkins, or side dishes. The meat was pretty good though. After the goat was consumed, the men broke out the vodka. At this point, my mama signalled that it was time to go. I left fully satisfied of my wedding experiences of the weekend.

One Month in!

2009-09-18T13:37:00.002+02:00

Wow, I just realized today that I've been here for a month! It's been flying by, I'm afraid December will be here before I know it.
I finished my compulsory Zulu course today, took my final and completed the oral exam. We have "optional" Zulu lessons that I'll take for the next few weeks until I leave to go do my independent study.
Speaking of independent study, I am still trying to figure out what I'm going to do. I've found a clinic that I want to focus on in a rural area of the Eastern Cape that has a reputation for having a great staff but limited material resources. I still have yet to decide on what I'm going to focus my topic on. I feel like I'm so interested in everything that I'm learning about that it's so difficult to single out one issue. Some thoughts are:
Factors that influence pregnant mothers' choices about their birthing options.
Some study of how patients feel about their TB medication and how effective the treatment is.
Barriers to primary care for people living in rural communities.
Patients' responses to different health care workers: doctors, nurses, community health care workers, etc.
Social determinants of health in rural areas within the catchment area of the clinic-- this is especially interesting to me given my internship at Project Health this summer.
I really don't know what I want to study, I'm more interested in really experiencing the ins and outs of rural health care than writing a terrific research paper, as academically-unmotivated as that sounds. Hopefully my academic directors will be able to direct me down the right path to productive research. If anyone has any helpful hints or suggestions, feel free to e-mail me!

I live across the street from a witch doctor

2009-09-17T22:31:00.000+02:00

Let's talk some politics. I just read an article about some critics of Obama portraying him in images as an African 'witch doctor' in order, I assume, to say that his inability to pass major health reform 8 months into his presidency is due to the backwardsness that comes from his African ancestry.
Now, health policy is a pretty heavy topic that I don't really care to discuss the ins and outs of at the present time. However, I would like to comment on the image in light of my experiences and.a lecture I attended today.
I live across the street from one of those witch doctors. And around the corner from another dozen. They have normal jobs, raise normal children, live in normal homes. And the politcally correct name is traditional healer. I'm not saying I'd go to one of them for a health remedy, but in a society where quality western medicine is hard to come by and extremely costly in some cases, traditional healers are often used as a second option to those who can't access western-style health care.( Note: the South African government provides some things for free but others can be very costly. For example, if you are HIV positive and pregnant, you can get arv's and birth your baby with no extra cost, but if you want to have a c section to prevent your baby from getting HIV during birth, you better have some cash on hand.)
Further, today I listened to an extremely intelligent and well-respected medical anthropologist discuss how America's (and South Africa's) refusal to acknowledge any type of traditional health care has been the downfall of our system as a whole. It was very interesting, and it does seem to be true. As Americans, we tend to have the 'my way or the highway' mentality that often leads to ill-informed decisions when it comes to policy. When it comes to a huge health care overhaul, I'm not afraid of my government taking its time to consider all the options and pull in the best aspects from other nations' systems. If we want the best health care sytem for the most powerful country, we should be willing to look at health from all perspectives, even from the eyes of the traditional healer who lives across the street from me.

clinic visit

2009-09-17T20:40:00.000+02:00

Today I visited the a Clinic in downtown Durban. It was a Christian-based NGO that does HIV testing as well as pre and post-test counseling. I had high hopes for the visit because I'd been looking forward to seeing how faith can be used in a medical setting to produce positive outcomes. I was a little let down to say the least. The first experience I had was sitting in on a man's HIV test. If you've never been tested for HIV, it is a highly emotionally sensitive test. Here in South Africa, as well as in the US, there is still a whole lot of stigma that comes with being HIV positive or even going for a test in the first place. We should never have been allowed to sit in on the testing or to be able to know of the man's status. In the US, we would have been in big legal and medical ethics trouble, but here, the clinic was not very sensitive to their patients' confidentiality at all.
Next, we shadowed a counselor for 3 of her sessions. This was equally awkward and just as ethically troubling. I witnessed her coerce a very troubled HIV positive woman into testifying her devotion to Jesus (complete with signed confession) and tell a young and scared girl who was 2 months pregnant and about to get tested that her pregnancy was a sin. Now, clearly there is a need for free HIV testing in this country and this clinic is serving that need. However, I am deeply troubled by the forceful religious influences. This was a completely different interpretation of Christianity than what I believe and the counselor seemed way too pushy in her conversion attempts. She had clearly taken advantage of her clients' vulnerability in order to force her beliefs on them. She was using her position of power to force her beliefs instead of supporting these women in a very difficult time. The counselor told us that she was a volunteer and had had 2 weeks of training to be a counselor. She was trying to be there for these women in the only way she knew how, and that should be acknowledged. It seems that in a place like this, where resources are scarce and there's not much one can do to comfort someone who has just receives what is still for some, a death sentence, that a religious conversion may be all that resources allow to be offered. I'm not exactly sure what to take away from this experience. I guess the only conclusion that can be made is that using faith to heal may not be so great afterall. Especially if a patient doesn't want your brand of faith. As a Christian, I always hope to leave a positive impact on people I meet and give people a good impression of my belief system. However, I hope that I never overstep the boundaries like this.
In other news, I have my final zulu language exam tomorrow. Ngizofunda isizulu ebusuku! That means, I will study zulu tonight! Also, plans for the weekend: attend zulu wedding. I can't wait!

Culture Differences: The Boyfriend Issue

2009-09-16T16:05:00.002+02:00

I realize that I write about cultural differences almost all the time, but they truly fascinate me, so I'll just keep going. This post is about the issue of boyfriends and how parents ward off the approach of said boyfriends on their young daughters.
Now, my experience has always been that my parents usually insist on meeting any guy I go out with and if I really like someone, they're invited over for dinner to see if they can pass the test. The Dad Test that is. I've found that my father is a great judge of character and where my mother is always very welcoming and usually likes most people, Dad is brutally honest all the time. This comes in handy. It's also a good indicator of if someone really likes me if he'll put up with an awkward dinner with my family. (Note: Apology to anyone reading this who has been put through the test :), but you probably survived, good for you.)
However, this scenario does not occur in Cato Manor. While MamaKhulu was out, Nelo and Thah and I had a discussion about boyfriends. Now, Nelo is almost 18 and is going to university in February. Thah is 21 and works full time. She still lives with her mother though and is not allowed out without her mother's permission. Both of the girls have boyfriends, yet MamaKhulu has not met either of them. This was mind blowing to me. MamaKhulu doesn't even know about Nelo's boyfriend because Nelo is deemed too young to have a boyfriend in Zulu culture. Even though Thah says she loves her man and that they will get married some day, her mother still hasn't met him and he's not allowed in or around the house.
As I'm not a parent myself, I'm not quite sure which is the most effective strategy to warding off unwanted boys' attention towards young daughters. However, as a young girl, I'm pretty thankful that my parents chose the method they did. Growing up, it allowed me some freedom and a little bit of extra safety. I don't know how much this cultural practice encourages the spread of sexually transmitted diseases, domestic abuse against young women in relationships, or teen pregnancy. Without doing a data-involved survey, I'd venture to say that the inability of young girls to talk about relationships with their parents or even within earshot of their parents does not promote healthy behavior. This is not to deem Zulu culture as "backwards" or "wrong", as it is a wonderful way of life with many great traditions. However, globalization seems to have brought over the worst in western culture and often this clashes with traditional culture to result in some pretty unhealthy and nasty practices. This is just an example of some cultural differences I've observed and my thoughts about them, any thoughts in response?

Zulu dancing

2009-09-15T16:37:00.001+02:00

Not much news to report, just going about daily life here. Last night during dinner my sister, Thah, announced that I must learn how to do a traditional Zulu dance. And so we pushed the coffee table to the corner and turned down the volume on the television. And she began to sing, clap, and dance. The Zulu dance she showed me included some shuffling and a bit of booty shaking and kicking. Now, even with all of the fried food I've been eating, Thah is a much better endowed woman than I am when it comes to the back end. So, my family had a bit of a laugh at me trying to dance like a Zulu with my un-Zulu like butt, but it was a good family bonding experience and we all had a good laugh. So, I leave you with that, more interesting things to report later in the week when I visit an NGO called the Hope Clinic where they test for HIV and provide anti-retrovirals and counseling to AIDS patients.

Weekend Update

2009-09-14T15:25:00.002+02:00

I made chocolate chip cookies this weekend!! This was a huge success, considering chocolate chips do not exist in South Africa. Never fear, I was creative and made my own. I bought a huge chocolate bar and took a knife and literally chipped away at the chocolate. They didn’t taste like they do at home, I think the sugar is refined differently and the butter’s a little bit different, but they came out tasting pretty good. My family was thoroughly impressed and my mama kept calling them biscuits (they don’t do cookies here I guess) and then settled on calling them cakes. My sister asked me when I could make them again, so I view this as a success. Note: The chocolate chip cookies came after I cooked them a dinner than involved no frying or curry powder, also a success.
District 9: If you haven’t seen or read about this movie, I suggest you do. Now, alien movies are not really my thing and if you ask Tommy, my movie-expert friend, he’ll tell you that I get easily bored by most sci-fi stuff. So the whole plot of the aliens was not all that interesting to me, but the setting of the movie was. To be short, the basis of the movie is that an alien spaceship lands above the city of Johannesburg and the govt. of South Africa goes and investigates the spaceship, finds the aliens living in what they believe to be terrible conditions, and so they bring them down to the land and keep them in an area called District 9 which eventually becomes a slum (which, by the way, looks exactly like the South African slums of today that people live in). In the movie, there are “interviews” displaying peoples’ prejudices about the aliens, which are the same as those used by whites against blacks during apartheid. Furthermore, the city slums in South Africa originally began because of the govt.’s encouragement of men coming to the cities for mining labor. I’ve talked a bit about lobola, or the Zulu custom of a bride-price. It seems that during the oppression era, this went from being a cultural custom to a law. The lobola price was set at 11 cows, which was higher than most common rural-living men could afford to pay. So they were forced to go to the mines in the city to earn wages in order to marry. The law was created to keep the native population in poverty while the ruling European classes could enjoy luxury. All in all, the government created the slums in urban South Africa similarly to the way they created the alien-only District 9 in the movie. The township system was created to keep the races separate and unequal. In the movie, the government has decided to move all of the aliens in District 9 to a new area they have built with barbed wire and refugee-camp-like tents so that they can bulldoze the slum, where they suspect a good deal of illegal activity is occurring. This is exactly what the South African government did to the community I’m living in during apartheid. Cato Manor, the township I’m living in, was originally a slum designed for black laborers who came from the rural areas to work in Durban. There were blacks and Indians and coloureds (this is a term used to describe someone of mixed racial heritage and is still currently used in SA, not equivalent with derogatory terms used in the US) and the government felt that these different races should be segregated. And so they evicted everyone in Cato Manor, forced them to pack up and move to a new township further away where they would be divided by races and then bulldozed the township. It wasn’t until 1994 when the new government came into power that the modern Cato Manor was built with government-standardized housing that I’m currently living in. And so, the setting in the movie District 9 exactly mirrored South Africa’s past. Very interesting.
And now I’m going to talk about church again. Sorry if this bores you readers, but observing how different people worship is extremely interesting to me. I went to the same Catholic Church at St. Anne’s mission again but this time with Mama Busi and two other American students who were not practicing Catholics. I wrote down the readings in English the night before so that I would be able to follow along more easily and I was actually able to understand a bit of Zulu while looking at the English. During the extensive Zulu homily, I took out my rosary, as I really had no hope of understanding what the priest was saying. At the end of the mass, one of the elders of the church (not the priest, who travels to different parishes, but the man who is deemed the social head of the congregation) stood up and asked that we (the white people) stand up and introduce ourselves. We did and they clapped for us and then he praised not God, but the great president of the United States who “was born right here in Africa.” We had a little giggle (the South Africans believed it though) and sat down. What amazed me was that one of the other American students, who swore she had given up religion when she was 13, read from the English version of the New Testament that someone had handed her and read about two dozen chapters of the gospel of Matthew while we sat in mass. Now, it may have been out of boredom, but she seemed generally interested in it. I’m not quite sure what it is about methods of worship, but it seems to me that often when people see faith out of the context that they’re accustomed to, they’re more drawn to it. Further, last night my sister Nelo, who previously told me that she hated going to her church because she felt she was forced to by her mama, told me that she wanted to go to the Catholic church with me next Sunday. This is a lesson that I will never forget. Whatever it might be that causes people to reject religious organization, it is often not faith itself that they are rejecting but rather the perspective through which it is taught. I have never become disenchanted with my faith, but I now know that if I ever do, I must first change my perspective of my faith or seek to see it from other people’s perspectives in addition to my own. God looks different when you’re poor and oppressed or living in desperation and to be able to experience Him from that perspective is certainly a blessing.

Early morning runs and career choices

2009-09-11T12:52:00.002+02:00

This week I’ve finally been able to get into a routine of running in the morning before class. Since I go to bed around 9:30, it’s fairly easy to wake up at 5:30 or 6 and head out for a run. The roosters are pretty noisy and my sister and mama are already out of the house and on their way to work by 6 a.m. Also, eight hours of sleep is more than I’ve gotten since I started high school and it feels pretty good. I began by running around my neighborhood in circles and only going on the streets I knew. I’ve since explored a few more streets, mainly the ones that my mama has shown me and the way we access Cato Manor by minibus to get to and from school each day. Clarification: I feel very safe, there are lots of people around, people going to school or to work. I take my keys with me and R20 in my shoe, and wear appropriate clothing and I’m good to go. DO NOT WORRY.
Yesterday my exploration brought me by the neighborhood grocery store (the Jabula Supermarket) and past my mama’s sister’s house. Then I ran down the road and found myself out of the cookie-cutter houses and into what is referred to in health statistics as “informal housing”. Informal housing basically means that these are home-made shacks, a squattor's camp. They’re made out of whatever is available. Often you see the outside is made up of old shutters, broken boards, with corrugated tin roofs and some mud to fill in the many gaps. Some are the size of your basic regulation-size handicapped bathroom stall but often they are strung together for support and because families often add on to their shack as they find the resources to do so. I just looped around this area, staying just long enough to see the people cooking breakfast outside and the people emerging from the area, all dressed for school and work, ready to stand in the long lines for the minibuses going into town.
Now, the house I’m living in is probably one of the most well-off in the Cato Manor area. My family has enough food and clothing. They waste nothing but there is no extreme poverty in my house. My brother and sister go to private schools (mostly because the township schools leave one with no future) and my sister, Nelo, is planning on going to university next year. However, my mama is a factory worker and she’s been working at the Jockey factory for the past 15 years. She leaves for work at 6 am every day, sews underwear, and goes home, arriving around 5:30. My sister, Thah, works in a hospital, doing menial work because she has no formal training in anything. I haven’t really figured it out yet, but it seems that there is an oldest son who lives and works in Johannesburg and I’m guessing that he sends remittances back to the family, especially because my Mama is raising his daughter, Khansila. But they are the lucky ones here in Cato Manor. I live down the street from people who live without running water or sanitation in their homes. Without electricity for cooking and bathrooms. Yet, they get up and get dressed in their work uniforms and go to work everyday, usually to work in construction or at the local Pick’n’Pay (SA’s version of Walmart). There is no career choice, you work where there is a job available.
I live around the corner from this world, yet I still can’t imagine growing up like this. I was raised with the idea “You can be whatever you want to be,” especially in the era of “girl power” and I still genuinely believe this. As an undergrad at one of the best Catholic universities in the world, I have no doubts that I can graduate, get a job that I enjoy, and raise a family who lives in financial comfort. Even with the current recession and every university student’s worry about the availability of jobs after graduation, I’ve always remained an optimist that I’ll find a job that I enjoy when I’m done with school. Maybe this is a little naïve, but throughout my life I’ve been so privileged that I’ve never had a reason to doubt that I won’t be able to have a job that I truly enjoy. If fact, with anyone I’ve ever talked to about career planning the main question is, “What do you want to do?” not “What will you have to do to survive and feed yourself?” It’s said that often the happiest people are those that don’t view their job as ‘work’ but truly enjoy it. I often wonder if my sisters and brother here think about what they want to do or what types of jobs will be available to them. I highly doubt that my mama really loves sewing underwear in a factory for low pay I’m sure it’s not life-fulfilling, but the fact of the matter is that it is stomach-filling. In this society, that’s what matters. So, on my run where I saw the residents of Cato Manor going off to their low-paying long-hour jobs, I am so thankful for my privilege that will allow me to choose my future and I hope that my brothers and sisters here will also grow up with enough education and enough opportunity to have jobs that they love too.

Some updates

2009-09-09T16:29:00.000+02:00

I feel as though I’m finally getting used to being here. It’s one thing to be happy in a new place, but when you start knowing where you are when you wake up and get to expect the sights and sounds instead of being surprised by them, you can say you’re really home. I’m getting used to being on a different schedule (wake up at 5:30 am, go to bed around 9:30 pm), not going out after dark, eating strange food, etc. Being able to settle into a routine feels good. Some updates:
My family got a computer! My sister, Nelo, is going to university next year (in February) and so I think Mama figured it was necessary for her education. This is a huge extravagance here. There is no internet, and Mama has no intention of bringing internet into the house because it would be way beyond their means. To me as an American, I really have no idea what one would do without internet, type I guess? Oh well. Nelo just looked at the computer in the box and no one in the family had any idea as to which cables went where. They all sat in amazement and watched me plug everything in and then applauded when it was finished and I loaded the printer software. It was a little amusing.
I have gone running in Cato! I woke up yesterday morning and went running outside. I’ve been avoiding running because there’s not really a good time to do it in the afternoon and it’s not exactly a popular thing to do here, so I look a little strange to the rest of the neighborhood. Plus, I’m kind of enjoying being a little lazy here. And yes, it is completely safe. There were people walking to work or to school already at 6 in the morning, and it was light out. Plus, I just ran in circles around the streets where other Americans are living.
That’s all for now, nothing new and exciting has happened in the past few days, but still enjoying taking in the experience of daily life :)

Out After Dark

2009-09-08T08:02:00.000+02:00

This weekend I finally ventured out into the darkness of Africa. This may sound scary to all of you concerned about my safety, but I returned just fine. On Friday night, our whole SIT group stayed in a youth hostel called The Happy Hippo, which is right by the beach. And do not picture anything from the movie “Hostel,” this place is very simple but very clean and safe. We all went out to dinner on Florida Road, which is where all of the nightlife is in Durban, got dinner at a Thai restaurant and then all 30 of us went to a club called Joe Cool’s on the beach. Now, anyone who knows me knows that clubbing is not really my scene and that I’m not really a huge fan of any evening where the goal is to absorb as much alcohol as possible, but it ended up being a pretty good night. The bar was a little touristy, mostly from being along the beach but there were lots of local Durbanites (I just made that up, but that’s what we’ll call them) there so I counted it as an authentic experience. We all had a little culture shock because we went from an all-Zulu environment to a nearly all-white environment. I’m not going to go into details, but all-in-all, drunk South African men (though I’m sure this is a worldwide claim as well) can be a little forceful and so I made up a fictitious American boyfriend to escape some interesting situations. But all of us in the SIT group (our group is 27 females and 3 males) were looking out for each other, so it ended up being a great night of dancing with the girls.
Saturday I opted to go back home to Cato rather than stay at Happy Hippo. There were 4 of us going back and when I got home, I was able to do laundry by hand (this takes awhile, I am now very thankful for washing machines) and then my sister, Thah, and I went to the Pavilion. The Pavilion is this huge mall sitting on top of a hill and you can see it from Cato. It is the obsession of the people here, they absolutely love the Pavilion, which is interesting because my impression is that there’s not much of a surplus of cash flowing through the households in Cato. This was my first time shopping at the Pavilion and my sister was so proud to give me the tour. Getting to the Pav was interesting. Nobody I live with owns a car because they can’t afford one and the bus system is on strike so the only form of transportation is either walking or the minibus taxis. To get a ride from a minibus taxi, you wait on a corner until a van with a paper that says “Pavilion” comes by. All of the conversation was in Zulu, but needless to say, we stood across the street from the neighborhood shebeen for awhile. A shebeen is basically a speakeasy; it looks like a small shipping container, turned into a shop with a circle of plastic chairs in a circle outside where men sit and drink beer, sometimes all day long. The shebeens were a huge center of revolution during apartheid because it was illegal for blacks to brew their own beer. Shebeens were illegal drinking places, usually run by women and were sometimes as the only way they could make money. The police often came to break up the shebeens, but they were also where the leaders of the ANC first gathered and organized their movement and therefore they’re still a sense of pride for the people.
Anyways, after about 20 minutes a minibus came along and picked us up. It cost R4 to get to the Pavilion (less than a dollar) and the bus almost died going up the hill. I felt like I was in my dad’s woody wagon, only this was an overcrowded minivan built in the 90’s. The bus started rolling down backwards on the hill and I started saying my prayers, but we got to the Pavilion safely. My sister showed me all around the mall, carefully identifying where she shops (only at a store called Mr. Price, that looks equivalent to Old Navy) and where it’s too expensive to shop (everywhere else). She kept trying to get me to buy things, as I think she thinks I’m filthy rich and I think she’s still trying to test me out and see how much money I have. She did not buy anything and neither did I, and we headed home in another minibus taxi, and this one ran a little bit better than the last. We got home safely.
Sunday morning I had arranged to go to a Catholic mass at St. Anne’s mission with Mama Busi, one of the mamas down the street. I was very curious to see what a Catholic mass was like, and even more eager to participate as I hadn’t been able to go to mass in 3 weeks, which is probably the longest I’ve gone in my life. At home, we whine and complain if the homily is so long that mass lasts over an hour. I was at church from 9-12:30, not counting the 20 minute walk both ways. The priest was 30 minutes late because he’d said mass already at a different church, but the congregation kept busy singing Zulu hymns to pass the time and this seemed like a normal occurrence. In fact, they interjected a hymn or two in between each element of the mass, often with the priest leading it. The entire mass was in Zulu, but I had read the readings previously and just said the words in English in my head so I could follow along. The order of the mass helped a lot, as the shaking of hands is a universal custom and “Alleluia” is a universal word. I caught on to the key words like “Inkosi,” which means chief, king, or Lord. There were some very interesting differences between westernized Catholic and Zulu-Catholic worship. First, there was dancing during hymns. The floorboards were shaking and I could have sworn the walls were swaying with the people. This has never before happened in any Catholic mass I’ve ever been in. Also, instead of the basic collection basket, the whole church formed a line in the center aisle and everyone went up and dropped their coin in the box that the altar server held. I guess this would be to ensure that each member of the congregation contributed but I’m not really sure. So everyone went up to contribute to the collection, but when it came time for communion, only about 20% of the people went up to the altar to receive communion and I’m not sure why. Each time I joined in line, every person in the church turned to stare at the umlungu (white person) who was there. There was also a group of women wearing white matching blouses and purple cloaks with red ribbons. I haven’t figured out who these people were, if they were a religious community based at St. Anne’s or the local women’s league. They didn’t look very nun-like, but here people are rarely what they seem, so I’m not making any assumptions. All in all, the Catholic mass was refreshing and a great experience, but maybe next Sunday I’ll try to find one in English.
After I got home from church, my mama immediately wanted to leave to go to visit her sister in the city. So we hopped in another minibus taxi, and it took us for a 20 minute ride into the center of Durban. This was not the same area of Durban as The Happy Hippo or Joe Cools and I certainly got stared at quite a bit. I was the only umlungu I saw at all on this excursion, which is probably why people stared. And when I mean stared, I mean literally stared and pointed. It was an interesting experience. My mama was a little worried about me getting lost, so she insisted that I hold her hand like a five year old. It was sweet but probably a little unnecessary. We had to walk a little ways from where the minibus dropped us off. Walking is an interesting process here. I am not an extremely fast walker because of my short legs, but these people walk excruciatingly slow, which is probably due to the fact that the majority of mamas are overweight. Being overweight here is a perceived to be a good thing in this culture. It usually shows that you can afford to eat as much as you want and that you don’t have AIDS. So we shuffled at a slow pace down the street. We finally reached her sister’s flat. I don’t have any friends who live in apartment buildings in the U.S., but this was a pretty dilapidated looking building. There was a center courtyard filled with garbage where children were playing cricket and lots of broken windows. We traveled up an elevator to the seventh floor (I prayed the whole way up, because I could just imagine this elevator cable snapping). The filth and graffiti in the hallways was a little appalling, but it is what it is. The apartment itself had sheets hung over ropes to section off different ‘rooms’ but the room where we sat seemed to be a bedroom (there was a queen size bed), the living room (the large, ever-present TV was on, with the Cote d’Ivore v. Burkina Faso soccer match playing. There was also a refrigerator and a kitchen table. The table was set with a feast: rice, lamb curry, fried chicken, mashed butternut squash, green salad, potato salad, beets, another vegetable/mayo salad, all served with Coke and grape Fanta. I begged out of all salads involving mayo and was stuffed. Then my mama’s sister fed us ice cream and custard, which they seem to always eat together here, but that’s okay, I’ll eat ice cream any way it comes. And then she served cake and requested that I cut the cake, but in pieces the size of bricks. When I left, I felt as though I had gained a million pounds. We were there for awhile and I just sat while the sisters gossiped in Zulu. On leaving, we again had to walk several blocks to get a minibus taxi. At the taxi stop, I got stared at again, this time with extreme confusion as to why I would venture into this part of town. We arrived home and I closed myself in my room and studied furiously for my first Zulu exam, which went fine this morning.
And so we begin a new week. I’ve been in deep contemplation these past few weeks as to what I’m going to study while here in Durban. The components of this program include an independent study project (ISP) in which we design and carry out a research project and write a huge paper on it and then present our findings. I’ve decided to study the health care options available to Zimbabwean refugees, of which there are many in Durban and also in Johannesburg as well as in refugee camps along the border. No one in the program has decided to study this, as it is a fairly current and sensitive topic due to the extreme amounts of xenophobia in South Africa. I think it’ll also be very interesting in light of my own country’s stance on providing health care to illegal immigrants. All summer I worked at Boston Medical Center and had several clients who were illegal immigrants. In Massachusetts, they were provided with health insurance but this has since been repealed, so this is a special area of interest for me. I’ll also be writing more of an academic paper for my community health seminar here and I think I’ve decided to focus on micronutrients and the education surrounding nutrition for the poor, as many childhood illnesses and disabilities stem from a lack of nutrients either in pregnant women or during child development. Now that I’ve sorted out what direction I’m going in for both projects, I’m excited to get started, but more about my academics later…

Anne Marie in the kitchen

2009-09-04T12:03:00.000+02:00

Yesterday I returned home from school and Nelo, my sister is home alone with Khansila, the three-year-old.
“Can you cook?” she asks me, exasperatedly.
“Umm, I can cook at home, I can help you...” I offer.
“Good, I have to cook dinner, and I don’t know how…” she trails off, looking at me with expectation. We both turn and head to the kitchen. There is a bag of chicken, previously frozen, now defrosting on the counter.
“Were you going to cook these?” I ask.
“Well, I started with rice,” she motions to the pot of rice boiling on the stove. I start to understand that she has no idea where to start. Okay, I got this, I think.
“Use anything you can find,” she volunteers as she retreats back to her room. Awesome, I am alone in a still-strange kitchen with unknown resources and an expecting and hungry family coming home soon. So I first take inventory of what was available. The things in the refrigerator are usually foreign to me, but I find some tomatoes. One of my favorite dishes at home is tomato, celery, and cucumber salad with feta cheese and Italian dressing. I decide to improvise. Result: Tomato and green pepper salad, with a dressing made from sunflower oil, white spirit vinegar, and a small amount of salt and the contents of a canister that says “Italian spice.”
Now, on to the chicken. I usually cook chicken on a grill. Here, I have a pot on a propane stove, hmmm. So, I move into Rachel Ray mode. I have no idea how they usually cook chicken, but I usually use a marinade. Problem is, the spices here are unlabeled and unknown to me. There is no basil or rosemary or parsley, no lemon juice. So, I build a marinade using a little bit of sunflower oil, previously ground ginger and garlic, curry powder, and salt. FYI, except for the thing labeled “Italian spices,” curry powder one of 3 spices is the house. I use a little bit of what is labeled as “chicken spice,” These spices smell like what I’ve been eating for dinner, so I figure it’ll be okay. I let the chicken sit for a little bit while I start some onion and garlic sautéing in the pot. Add the chicken, stir. Then I realize that when Thah cooks meat, it’s usually in some sort of a sauce. And so I add a little bit of what says “tomato sauce” but is really just ketchup. I don’t realize until after it’s in the pot, oops. I stir, and it looks okay. Nelo watches me inquisitively.
“I’m learning,” she explains.
“Well, I’m just making this up as I go,” I say, “I hope you’re not taking notes, because I have no idea how this will turn out.”
“It smells good to me,” she offers. Good, because it’s 7 o’clock, the electricity just went out, and Mama isn’t home yet. I’m glad it smells good, because this is the best I can do, I think. Everyone arrives home by 7:30, the electricity is still out, and we eat the meal by candlelight again. Hopefully they’ll all be too hungry to notice that I attempted to cook using what looked like ketchup. They all politely compliment the dish, clean their plates, and Mama requests that I show her how to marinade meat. Whew, I have passed the test of cooking dinner for my South African family. Everyone has a satisfied stomach and no one has died from being poisoned from the unlabeled spices. The electricity is still out and we all go to bed by 8. Next time I’ll attempt something I know a little bit better… maybe chocolate chip cookies or some banana muffins? We’ll see…

No TV, No Problem

2009-09-03T15:38:00.001+02:00

Yesterday it was ridiculously hot. The internet said it was 104 F, but who knows how accurate that is. Around 5:30, as we were heading home from classes a huge cold front moved in and there were some crazy winds going on. When I got back to Cato, it was just getting dark and all the candles were lit in my house because the electricity had gone out, probably from the winds. My sister was already cooking dinner in a pot that was cooking on a propane tank on the kitchen floor. I said hi to Mama and started studying my Zulu flashcards by candlelight (yes, I have made Zulu flashcards, don’t laugh).
Soon, women started coming in the house. We were having company with no lights! There was chatter coming from the living room but then suddenly, the chatter stopped and there was this beautiful singing of hymns. My sister, Thah, and I stood in the kitchen while she sautéed peppers and onions by candlelight, just listening to the Zulu hymns. The women’s voices were high and low, weaving in harmonies that haven’t ever been written down but that they know in their hearts. Every so often, the singing would cease and a woman’s voice would rise, praying and reading scripture. I stayed in the kitchen, not wanting to intrude on the prayer service, but listening to their enthusiasm and the faith that shined through their voices. I had accepted that I could not understand the words spoken, except for the few words and phrases of Zulu that I would recognize when spoken slowly and clearly enough when suddenly, they burst out in English. They were singing the “Our Father,” in a different melody than I was used to but it was one that felt like home regardless.
When the candlelit prayer group was finished, they filed out of the house, through the kitchen, still singing. Thah motioned that I must follow. I was the last one out of the house, and each woman shook my hand in the Zulu fashion as I went down the line. I joined the end of the line and the song ended. The women said goodbye to each other and dispersed to their own homes. Their small children, who had been hanging around the house and in the yard followed.
Back inside, the TV was thankfully still off and the candles still lit. The TV, here, is the center focal point of the entire household. Dinner is always eaten in the living room, around the TV as the one channel that we have blares on, sometimes in English and sometimes in Zulu and sometimes in Xhosa. Sometimes, an entire dinner can go by without any conversation. The TV is a status symbol and commands all attention, and is rarely off in the house. For as important is it is for people to have access to the media, I fear the TV has taken over time spent on socializing and physical activity here, as it has in America. So last night, I happily ate dinner and conversed with my family a little more than usual. There was no “Generations” to watch (it’s the soap opera that comes on at 8 pm that the entire country watches) and so my entire family blew out the candles and headed to bed around 8:15. Despite the fact that I was forced to read by flashlight and didn’t have much time to study for class, I appreciated the loss of electricity because it allowed me to witness what is called “umoja” in Zulu, which means the spirit of togetherness.

P.S.

2009-09-02T15:12:00.003+02:00

As an addendum, if you like something I've said (or not) or want to hear more about something (or not) or just want to communicate, please comment on my blog posts! I'm not sure how many people actually read this, but it'd be nice to know that I'm not wasting time writing these posts! You can also e-mail me at annemarie.kearing@gmail.com if you want to say something but don't want the whole world to see it. Thanks.

School day!

2009-09-02T15:10:00.000+02:00

Today’s field study was an outing to different schools in Durban. Our SIT group of 30 split up and were assigned different schools. I traveled with 3 other girls to Brettonwood High School, a “reformed” school just down the road from the SIT house, in a relatively nice area of Durban. By relatively nice, I mean my US family would be comfortable living in this neighborhood if we lived in SA. A “reformed” school here is one that was for whites only under apartheid but has now been desegregated. To give you an idea of the current racial demographics, about 95% are Zulu-speaking blacks and there were probably only 10 white kids out of 700. The teachers were primarily white and Indian, though several teachers and the principle were black. Now, if you read this blog regularly, you’ve probably notice that I comment on racial demographics whenever I describe a new scenario. This is not because I am racist, in fact, at home I rarely see “color” as an identifying factor. However, here in South Africa, race defines culture and economic status, which define everything.
Anyways, I got a tour of the school by a boy in grade eleven, who when asked to be a tour guide exclaimed “I want the short one!” (thank you, Zamani). He was very informative despite his attempts at flirting and I’ll just share some details of how the school is run that’s different from how my educational experience has been in the US. The school was grades 8-12 and at the end of grade 9, each learner (they’re called learners, not students) chooses a subject package, or educational track to follow. The choices are tourism, commerce, and science, and mixed. This is because the main focus of school is career/university preparation, not general education. Students must take math classes, English, and either Zulu or Afrikaans, though the 2nd language options get segregated along racial lines by student choice.
Also, every student wears a uniform that consists of a white collared shirt, tie, black sweater, skirt/pants, dress socks and dress shoes. Zamani explained that this was to equalize students from different economic backgrounds, and most students I talked to agreed that it was a good thing and it helped them act with more discipline. Ironically, most teachers were dressed casually, sometimes in jeans in sneakers.
The school seemed somewhat adequately supplied with resources in some aspects and not in others. For example, they had a fully supplied cooking class where they were making cheesecake, but no designated history class and the “social science” class that they had for the younger grades focused on geography and world history, but no South African history at all. Weird. Further, there were no music or arts classes, no journalism or creative writing. The more I walked around, sat in on classes, and conversed with teachers and students, the more it became apparent that this was not a liberal-arts type of education where creativity and original thinking is fostered. This education is to prepare one for the workplace and to develop life skills. Perhaps creativity and personal intellectual growth are still a luxury in the developing world that we take for granted in our American universities.

Typical Sunday

2009-09-01T16:16:00.001+02:00

So I’ve posted about my experiences on Saturday, but I didn’t include anything about the rest of my weekend. Sunday morning I woke up feeling much better and well rested. My mama boiled some water for a bath (there’s no hot water in the house) and I bathed and was instructed to wear a dress. I was sent off with Nelo, my sister who is 17, and Khansila, her niece who is 3. We walked about 15 minutes to the “church,” which was really a township school building that actual resembled a jail, with lots of barred doors and windows. Evidently several church services take place in various classrooms here on Sunday morning. We were attending the Assembly of God service and Nelo led me to the classroom, which had calculus written on the blackboard and your typical high school graffiti on the walls. Nelo and Khansila listened to the Sunday school lesson being given beforehand. It was in Zulu but from what I could understand, it was a discussion about Noah and the arch. As the lesson was winding down, adults starting filling the classroom and two boys brought in a table cloth, which they spread over the teacher’s desk and a fake flower arrangement that was placed on top. It was a Christian church, but the only Christian symbols in the room were the Bibles that each person brought with them and single cross hanging from my neck. The service consisted of men preaching and the whole group singing Zulu hymns. This was interesting, as the majority of the adult community in Cato is female and the majority of the adults in the room were female, yet no females preached or lead the congregation in any way. Not that I’m opposed to this (I’m Catholic and always have been, gender roles are just understood in my religion), I just found it interesting given the social dynamic of the community. One thing that did shock me was the amount of exclamation and hysterical outbreaks that came from the mouths of the people. At first it just surprised me. It’s a much different from a Catholic mass in the U.S. To me, if God moves you, you feel it inside, in quiet prayer, and through the Eucharist. I can attest to this, I feel like God is speaking to me in every homily at Villanova and in each time I receive the Body of Christ. It’s not that I can’t believe that these people are moved by God and feel his presence, I just have a hard time understanding how and why they express themselves vocally in this way. My lack of understanding probably comes from my inability to understand the language, though some of the hymns were in English. The one that I remember went something like this: “Jesus is a mighty warrior, He will fight for me.” My Christian experience includes nothing about Jesus being a warrior, which leads me to think that Christianity here is sort of a mix of Zulu culture and Western Christianity. This could be completely wrong, it’s just a thought.
I walked home from church with Nelo, Khansila, and Mama. On the way, I got three marriage proposals from guys just sitting outside their houses. This is a type of flirting in the culture. And as they offered me marriage, my mama called back, “I want labola, you must pay labola!” She then proceeded to tell me that I am worth eleven cows and that she’d be willing to send five of them on an airplane to my United States Mama if she could keep the other six. Now, this is not meant to be offensive. It’s kind of like an inside joke within the entire Zulu population. But, Mom and Dad, if you get five cows via DHL or UPS, you should probably come rescue me from a most likely awkward marriage.
After we got home, Mama soon whisked me off to her sister’s house. Sometimes I feel like I’m being shown off to the relatives, like “Look at this umlungu (white person) I’ve got here, isn’t she funny” (although I wouldn’t know, because all conversation is in Zulu). So at u-anti’s house they were having what seemed to be the Zulu version of a Sunday afternoon barbeque. There was a whole sheep in a large pot over a fire in the backyard that was only about 3 meters deep. I was fed some part of sheep insides, which they laughed at me because I attempted to use a fork, which is evidently not the custom. By the time the whole sheep had come out of the pot, it was placed on a huge platter, one of the women took a knife and haphazardly cut it into smaller pieces. There was also a great deal of Jeqe (the “Q” is pronounced with a popping click of the tongue) which was cooked with the sheep and therefore very greasy. The meal was good, but it was very filling because of all the fat it was cooked in.
So that’s about it for my weekend experience. My Monday and Tuesday have been pretty boring, lots and lots of school work. Planning my ISP (independent study project) is a little overwhelming, but that’s another story for another day :)

The water is fine, but don't eat the mayo!

2009-08-31T10:34:00.000+02:00

Lesson of the weekend: find out where your mayonnaise has been before you eat it. I came home from classes on Friday afternoon and none of my sisters and brothers were home, so I helped my mama make dinner (recipes posted below) and didn’t realize that the mayonnaise she took out wasn’t kept in the refrigerator, it’s kept in the cabinet. After much discomfort, I woke up very sick in the middle of the night and tried to suck it up all morning but passed out in the kitchen around 8 am. Without being graphic, I spent the rest of the day being very ill and fainting whenever I tried to move my body more than a few feet. My mama (Homestay mom, I call her mama) has no medical background, but seems to think that food cures everything and tried her hardest to feed me, which I refused, knowing nothing was going to stay in my stomach. She gave up and decided that praying was the second best option to food and so had the entire neighborhood checking on me and praying for me. Finally, after fainting the third time, I called Thula, our ‘superman’ at SIT and he came and got a very disoriented me and took me to the Westville ER, a private hospital very close to Cato Manor. Needless to say, by the time I got to the hospital I was extremely dehydrated because every time I tried to drink water it wouldn’t stay down. Within 5 minutes, Thula had signed me in at the front desk with the information on my driver’s license and I was in a hospital bed. 20 minutes after arriving, my vitals were taken by a nurse and the doctor arrived 20 minutes after that. He appeared wearing jeans and a button up shirt with a stethoscope around his neck. He told the nurse to give me fluids and some sort of medicine to settle my stomach (I was a little delirious, forgive me for not remembering what I was given). The nurse offered me something to drink and brought me some water and a blanket, told Thula to come back in 2 hours, and I fell asleep and rehydrated. When I woke up a little while later, I felt much better and once the IV drip was finished, I got out of bed, paid R650 (which is about $90) on my credit card, and left.
Now, I have never been to an ER in the US but from the stories I have heard, getting into a hospital bed within 5 minutes is pretty much unheard of. I want to emphasize that this was a private hospital and that most of the people in Cato Manor could probably not afford the treatment I got. This was also a very interesting experience as I traveled from Cato Manor, where everyone is Zulu and black to this hospital about 5 minutes away where all of the employees were Indian or white and very few of the patients were black. This is just to comment on the fact that although South Africa is no longer politically segregated, but in a social context, race dictates economic status, which dictates everything else in life. This is extremely unfortunate but it’s the way things are, not just in SA but in the US as well. In the US there has been so much in the news about the inequalities of healthcare and as many of you know, I spent the summer working with Project Health, being exposed to the social determinates of healthcare, inequalities and health outcomes, etc. So from studying health inequalities non-stop for the past few months, it was an invaluable experience to be able to witness healthcare inequality first-hand. How this will ultimately impact my experience here in South Africa, I don’t know. I do know that as I lay in the hospital bed with an IV in my arm, I knew that the $90 worth of drugs that I was getting to cure what began as a simple case of food poisoning was probably unattainable by my host family, and if not them, the many families that live in shacks of corrugated tin down the road.

I'm Home! (Cato Manor home, not real home)

2009-08-27T11:35:00.002+02:00

Last night I moved into my new home! I'm living in Cato Manor, a township just outside the city of Durban. The houses are all identical, built by the government into the hillside. My Mama's name is Nokuthula, which means 'so quiet' and we live with her daughter Thah, short for Thandeka which means 'adorable' (21), Nelo, short for Nelizwa which means 'enough girls' (17), her son whose name is Mqhapeli, pronounced with a clicking sound meaning 'be careful' but we call Boy (14) , and the grandaughter, Khanyisile, which means 'to brighten up' who is 2. So I got there 7:30, sat awkwardly attempting to converse in Zulu but giving up and talking in English. We ate dinner, cooked by Thah. There's no kitchen table because there's no room in the kitchen, so we served ourselves in the kitchen and then sat in the living room crowded with overstuffed couches and the focal point: the tv. Dinner was rice, grilled chicken drumsticks, potatoes, and salad. It was delicious and they even brought out ice cream covered in a custard sauce for dessert, which I could tell was a huge treat. I may unfortunately gain a bit of weight over here if we eat like this every night! I was also told that Fridays are my night to cook, which is a little bit scary. I mean, I love cooking for people but with limited resources and not knowing the ingredients or the kitchen very well, there is a large possibility for error and I don’t want my family to go hungry! Hopefully I’ll get a little bit of help on Friday night! Also, they let on that my sister Nelo is the worst cook in the world, so at least their expectations aren’t very high. After dinner, we watched Generations, a tv show that every South African watched at 8pm every night and then Mama took me over to see her sister, Aunti Zonke, who also has an SIT student. I basically greeted her in Zulu and then we left, but it was good to see the neighborhood a little bit.
After we got back, they showed me my room which is undoubtedly the biggest bedroom in the house. I have a double bed that takes up all of it but there are also some cabinets to put my clothes in, which is nice. After unpacking, I brought out some gifts for them and showed them pictures of my family and friends at home, which they loved. Mama was most interested in seeing the picture of my parents and I. I had brought a picture of my boat at Dad Vails and tried to explain the sport of rowing, but they seemed pretty uninterested. Here, there is soccer for blacks and rugby for whites and that’s pretty much the way it goes. Then I asked them for help with my Zulu homework (it’s not like I can really get by without help) and then went to bed. Biggest problem of the night: they never showed me the room with the sink and wash basin so brushing my teeth was a small challenge, but my nalgene water sufficed and I went to bed in a double bed with an ugly satiny green cover and huge overstuffed satin pillows. By the way, fake satin and overstuffed furniture seems to be the theme of the house, along with lack of clutter and extreme cleanliness. And for all you who are concerned about my safety, my house is surrounded by a fence with barbed wire and there are about a million locks on the doors that get locked at night.
This morning before school, I got up, ate cornflakes with warm milk for breakfast (yum), and then Mama poured a huge pot of hot water into the bathtub for me to wash up in. I awkwardly washed my hair in about 3 inches of bathwater and bathed and brushed my teeth in the new found sink. My brother and sister left for school about the same time I did, and I believe Thah was already at work this morning. I left the house around 7:15, met Mama Busi and waited at her house to get picked up by Sdu in the SIT van. By the way, Rebecca, if you’re reading this, I told Mama Busi you said hello and she showed me the huge picture of you framed on her wall and was thrilled. And now I am in class and writing a blog.
More to come in the next few days, this weekend I’ve been invited to a special Zulu ceremony to celebrate the Zulu form of an engagement (or something like that). In this culture, people still pay cows to a girl’s family in return for her marriage. It’s called Labola (sp?) and I forget what the ceremony I’m attending is called, but it’s the next step in the marriage process after labola. So, maybe I will see some cows and maybe not, but I’m sure I will have more to report on Monday.
Salani kahle!

First Day of Class!

2009-08-25T22:32:00.000+02:00

Sani bonani! (Hey y'all!)
Today was our first day of classes! We went to the SIT house which is literally a house with a classroom and then a kitchen, bathroom and offices. It's in a completely residential and fairly upscale neighborhood. The houses look very Miami-like placed on San Francisco-type streets. But before I talk about my class I must tell you about the best part of my day... the run.
So I actually was able to run in South Africa! There were 4 of us girls and we went running along the beach, which is conveniently located a block away from our hostel. No, Mom and Dad, this was not in any way unsafe. It was fairly dark when we left but the streets were well lit and the area of the beach where we ran was very touristy-- filled with lots of hotels and some waterparks. We ran on the sand for a ways but then switched to the path that was nicely right along side the beach. We were even able to run down a pier and watch the sunrise over the Indian Ocean. The people we saw were a) security guards b) people going to work and c)other runners! Yes, there are other runners in Africa, and not just the marathoners, real people who just enjoy a nice early morning jog along the beach.
So after finally stretching our legs, we got to the SIT house and discovered the magic of wheatbix (breakfast that is like fiberous cardboard that tastes much nices with sugar) and the non-magic of instant coffee. We had a Zulu lesson where we learned how to initiate basic conversation such as "Ungubani igama lakho?" which means "What is your name" and the three distinct clicking sounds that are made in the place of English letters c, q, and x and are very hard to make with an unpracticed tongue. The most interesting thing about learning the Zulu language is learning where the different meanings of the words come from. For example, when you greet someone saying "Sawubona," it literally translates to, "My ancestors and I, we see you" and where in English you might say "I'm good" or "I'm fine" if someone inquired about how you were doing, in Zulu, the standard answer is "I am alive". The structure of the language is fascinating, but I'll wait until I learn more about it to tell you.
After Zulu lessons, snack time, and a long lecture on the importance of cultural adaptation, we participated in our very first "drop off." Evidently this is a typical SIT activity that they don't tell you about. They give you R200 (200 rand, equivalent to about $26 but you can get a good meal for about R40 at a restaurant) and a cell phone, drop you off somewhere with a partner, give you a location to check out (a public mall, park, hospital, school, shopping center, etc.) and give you a location to be at in about 2 hours. The idea is you need to interact with the locals and find your way around, grab lunch with your buddy, explore, and meet at the predetermined time and location. My buddy was Ben, one of the three guys on my trip and we got sent to this mall about a half mile from the SIT house in a nice neighborhood. We explored, attempted to greet people in Zulu, and got lunch at a diner and ordered some authentic Durban food, which was delicious and very filling and walked back to the SIT house. I had Shwarma, a barbeque stirfry in pita bread and Ben had 'bunnie chow' which is curry in a hollowed out loaf of white bread. Very interesting. It was fun and exciting and in no way dangerous, but a good experience and gave me a little bit more confidence about being in a strange city by myself. When we got back to the SIT house, we were the first ones back and there were monkeys in the kitchen! We chased them into the backyard and watched them climb around with the food they'd stolen. It was funny and I got a few good pictures.
Tonight is our last night at Happy Hippo's Backpacker (the hostel) and a few of the girls and I went out to a casino and ate at an Indian restaurant inside the casino. It was fun but I'm really looking forward to meeting my host family tomorrow night and being completely immersed into South African culture.
Salani kahle! (Stay well)

Drive to Durban

2009-08-24T21:00:00.001+02:00

Sawubona! That means hello in Zulu, though the spelling is probably off.
So today we had our first Zulu lesson (of which I remember very little) and drove from Johannesburg to Durban. The scenery was very pretty, there were lots of grassland and mountains and we saw a zebra and an ostrich along the way! So instead of writing a very complex description of the ride, I'll list some cultural observations.

1. Hitch hiking seems completely legit in South Africa, in fact, maybe a preferred form of transportation for many. Do not fear, Mom and Dad, I am not planning on taking up this sport.
2. The highways are wicked clean! Much better maintained than US highways, but there are also more tolls. And this might be due to the coming World Cup.
3. Speaking of... every other billboard or advertisement has to do with soccer. And South Africans are loving the anticipation of the world cup, it is everywhere.
4. Not all South Africans are poor, there are some huge houses here! Although, as soon as your dwelling amounts to something, the trend is to put a wall around it... a little different from Longmeadow where people tend to show off their wealth.
5. Apartheid, though it may be over politically, is still alive in some aspects of the culture. Just from talking to people, it seems like the university system is still fairly segregated. But, hey, who am I to judge? We basically do the same thing in America. I promise, there will be more about this later, but I need to learn a little bit more first.
6. It is really strange being in an environment where the majority of people do not understand Catholicism or where my morals come from. Though, a lot of my group seem curious and want to learn about it, which is a positive. This too, should add to the newness of the experience and hopefully in a good way.

Tomorrow we start real classes in the SIT house and we'll be moving in with our home-stay families later this week. I am very excited!

Arrival in Johannesburg!

2009-08-22T21:07:00.001+02:00

I arrived in Johannesburg last night! The plane ride was looong but in the last 6 hours we flew through both a sunrise and then descended into a sunset as we reached Johannesburg. Flying across Africa, there really wasn’t much to see from the plane until we reached the limits of the city. The city itself seemed really spread out from the sky and even as we reached the airport, the only tall buildings that you could see were out in the distance with a backdrop of a red and smoggy sunset. The airport was very nice and clean and going through customs consisted of a woman asking “Are you carrying food?” as we walked by. I met 7 other people in the Atlanta airport and on the flight over, which was nice. Our leader, Zed, met us in the airport and instructed us on how to find an ATM, exchange money, and get a calling card. After we accomplished all of these things, Zed called his buddy Stu, who picked us up in a 16 passenger van. As we left the airport, my experiences in Haiti came in handy as I was very well trained by Sr. Eunice in the art of shooing away seemingly helpful but unwanted men who will take your luggage for you and then demand a fee for lifting what you can easily lift yourself. They’re not as identifiable in South Africa without the notorious red caps that can be seen outside the airport in Port-au-Prince, but they exist nonetheless.
One of my first realizations as I walked outside was that it is COLD in Johannesburg. Last night it was in the 40s and today it only reached into the 60s. I wore jeans and flannel all day! Thankfully in two days we’ll be heading south to Durban where it is supposed to be warmer.
Once we were in the van, Stu drove us about 5 minutes to the Shoestrings Backpackers Lodge, where you can hear both the airplanes taking off and dogs outside. We were so exhausted that we really just ate dinner, showered, and went to bed. The inn itself reminds me a lot of the Walls’ in Haiti. Just the basic commodities, you sleep in your sleeping bag and hope that the water isn’t shut off when you want to shower. It’s a little chilly as there’s no heat in the house but they make sure we have food to eat and water to drink and that’s all that matters.
This morning we woke up, had a breakfast of cornflakes and whole milk and realized that the only coffee here is instant (oh no!) and then did some introductions. I also found out who my host family will be and it turns out that they have two daughters, ages 20 and 17 and a son who is 14, so I won’t feel out of place at all. We went over a quick itinerary and then set out for our sightseeing tour of Johannesburg. We visited the Hector Pieterson Museum, a memorial to the uprisings in the township of Soweto where students peacefully marched to protest the Bantu Education Act that required them to be taught in Afrikaans, the language of their oppressors. On the day of the uprising, June 16, 1976, the police shot dozens of children (the first was a 13 year old boy for whom the museum is named) and the violence against human rights brought the world’s attention to the struggle in South Africa. The museum itself and the testimonies were incredibly moving. It couldn’t really compare to any recognition of history that we have in the United States, but walking through it I felt the same kind of emotion that I felt when visiting the old Nazi concentration camp in Germany—this immense respect for the lessons learned and horror at how humans can treat other humans, especially violence against school children. It draws one into the questions, what is the Soweto or the concentration camp of our time? What human rights abuse is happening underneath our noses, with us in America completely oblivious to it? And further, what are we going to do about it? Be it the genocide in Darfur, the existence of sexual slavery and human trafficking around the globe, the existence of poverty throughout the world in general, it seems sad that it often takes a dramatic event to capture the attention of news cameras and American audiences. After we visited the museum, we were discussing the fact that it was school children who had died in Soweto. And someone asked the question, “But would it have had the same impact and reached the ears of the UN if it had been grown men? Absolutely not. How horrible that it takes an event where children die to capture our attention.”
Next, we went to have an authentic African lunch at a famous restaurant that I unfortunately forget the name of. The food was delicious though, and I tried tripe (some sort of intestine dish) for the first time. Next we went and visited Nelson Mandela’s house, also in Soweto and had a very friendly guide. The houses in Soweto are all built basically the same, barely the size of the attic I live in at my house in Longmeadow. The house itself wasn’t very remarkable, but the symbolism of the structure and what it means to the people here was very moving.
After Mandela House we unfortunately drove to a mall. Of course, there are malls everywhere but a lot of the members of the SIT group went crazy in the department store that sold more wine than shoes as well as the liquor store located right inside the mall (We’re not in Massachusetts anymore) which seemed a little inappropriate, but to each their own. It was amazing to see the demeanor and dress of the people inside the mall as compared to those outside the mall, as well as those working and those shopping. It was clear that the shoppers were different races, but the employees were all black Africans. I’m slowly beginning to see the role that race still plays in the social positions of South Africans and although I’m only at the observing stage right now, it’s clear that these distinctions will become more and more clear as time goes on.
So tonight I am back in the hostel in Johannesburg. Tomorrow we’ll have our first Zulu class and do a bit more sightseeing and the next morning we’ll leave on the 6 hour drive to Durban. Everyone else is a little disgusted about spending 6 whole hours (gasp!) in the vans, but I’m fairly confident in my riding experience as a member of the Kearing family and am looking forward to seeing the countryside. Although, being on the left side of the road will take a little bit of getting used to.

Going, going, gone!

2009-08-20T17:46:00.000+02:00

I'm leaving today! I have finally accomplished all of my last minute chores and packed in 1 day (which is a huge victory for me), having made about a million to-do-lists and packing lists and utilized all of my post-its for last-minute reminders. And for those of you who know me well, the to-do-lists and post-its are nothing new, it's the only way I ever get anything done. And yes, I am bringing my planner and a supply of post-its with me, how could I not?
So the plan is to leave Hartford around 3:30, layover in Atlanta and arrive in Johannesburg around 5:30 pm the next day. I'm not really looking forward to the whole 24-hour travel thing, but I figure it's just a small sacrifice to get to where I'm going. Hopefully I will be able to get all of the reading I've been meaning to do all summer done on the plane.
I found out yesterday that phone calls and texting while abroad are quite expensive but I can receive e-mail and bbm on my phone, so no one has to worry about losing touch!
As much as I'm going to miss my friends and family, it's hard to think about it right now, just looking forward to new people and new experiences. So, this is goodbye to America and to life in Longmeadow and to the fall semester I'll be missing at Villanova. In the words of one of my favorite musicians,
"See you later, see you soon, see you later alligator, and I will see you in the moon..."

One week to go!

2009-08-12T23:28:00.001+02:00

I am leaving for South Africa in a week and 2 days. It's little scary when I feel like my summer's been too hectic and crazy to even think about what the next four months will bring. I'm still working (every day!) and have not even thought about packing yet. Furthermore, I just had this huge realization yesterday that I won't be going back to Villanova until January. I saw everyone's facebook statuses saying how excited they were to be returning to campus and suddenly I remembered that I'm going to miss out on a whole semester back at school. When this sunk in, I felt a tiny bit of regret, just thinking about the things I'm going to miss out on... fall rowing, new classes, Halloween, Head of the Charles, Thanksgiving with my family, endless hours in the library. And then I realized I'm about to embark on this huge adventure and will be experiencing so many new things everyday that I probably won't have time to think about the things I'm missing out on back at home. I have faith that it'll all work out.

I do want to add a disclaimer here about me blogging in general. I am a opposed to the idea of blogging in general. Proclaiming all of one's revelations and feelings to the whole world seemed a little silly at first. I mean, I don't really know much about the world, who wants to hear what I have to say anyways? So, let it be known that this is not a space for me to pour my heart out or to educate others (I have little knowledge to offer), it is simply a means of communication. And this way, I do not have to spend $2.29/min. to call everyone and will not harrass my friends and family with unwanted e-mails about my daily life.
That being said, I will try to post as often as possible. Read as much or as little as you like, and feel free to e-mail me at annemarie.kearing@gmail.com or anne.kearing@villanova.edu if you want a more personal correspondence while I'm away!