Be a Man!

Last week my counterpart and I visited a farm school north of where I stay on the outskirts of Graskop. We've been making the rounds to schools in order to assess the needs of schools and any topics of interest we may assist with. The principal met with us who is loud, jovial and a bubble of life. He has been offering me a teaching position for several weeks now and is struggling in finding teachers for his school. A farm school is placed on a farming property, built by the farmer/owner himself in order to educate the children of those whose parents work on the farm. Often, there are no resources on the farms and children will walk for sometimes up to an hour in order to arrive at school. The biggest struggle I see on the farms is finding adequate teachers to commit to teaching in such an environment. Currently, this school I'm referring to called Driekop has zero teachers for the 60 kids there. The principal is currently the only one there to teach.

While there conversing with him, he begins to ask me at what age in America do people graduate from secondary school. I told him 18. He laughed and scoffed at me. "Really!" He said. I laughed and asked why that surprised him, seeing as how that is the standard age of graduation here in South Africa as well, regardless of it happening infrequently. He then proceeded to explain to me that it's too young to finish school. He believes the normal age to complete school is 21. I don't blame him considering that is often true here, especially in more rural areas. I was explaining how most students progress back stateside, meaning we complete school at 18 typically and proceed to college the following year to receive a degree between 4 and 5 years. He continued to laugh at me, stating that I was incorrect. When I asked him why, he said, "Men can't be men." I looked at him blankly and wondered what his mind was getting at. He went on to ask me if I am married. "No," I replied, "but I have a boyfriend." "Where is he!" Well, I explain that he is currently serving as a PC volunteer in Uganda and I have just returned from visiting him. He asked if we have children. "No." He is stunned and his loud persona suddenly became very quiet.

After several seconds of silence, he looks at me and tells me like it is. "You are not a man unless you move around with the women. Your boyfriend will need many girlfriends in America and Uganda and South Africa. Look at myself. I have 12 children. I can wipe my hands and say, I am a Man!" I explained that is not what I was taught growing up and that my boyfriend as well was not raised to believe in that. He interrupted me to again tell me that he does not even know where all his children are or who the women are. I asked what he does to provide for the kids. "What you mean! Isn't it that there is a mother there to take care of them." I asked him why he does not feel he needs to help his 12 children. He then explained that is nothis role. He wants to die with everyone around him saying that he made a legacy, that he fathered strong people and that he knew what it was to "Be a Man!" He said he does not feel complete. He wants to father three more before he feels that he can allow himself to move into another life.

This man is not old. He appears educated and attached to the school and the childrens' education. I said that I would love to show him where I come from so he can understand that. He could not understand why I am nearly 28 and do not WANT kids. He feels that I am letting down my species and went on to explain to me that my life holds no value at this time. He said that until I allow myself to experience many men and fill my life with multipl children, I am unable to say that I have been successful. I looked at him for a while before saying anything. I asked him why he feels I am not successful. He said, "Look at you!" and then the conversation was over. He switched to Swati and he and my counterpart were jovial as if nothing happened. I sat in awe as they conversed, thinking to myself how after a year of hearing such things, it still makes my stomach turn to know that most men I've interacted with tend to feel similarly. As we stood to leave, he said, "Now, you come back to me when you decide that you want to make your life real. Allow me to provide you with a child, and then I will be able to stand tall." He patted me on the back, laughed and disappeared into a classroom.

While driving back with my counterpart, I asked him his thoughts on it all. He laughed and insisted he was joking. I explained how I have heard this in multiple provinces from multiple age groups of men. He shrugged and said, "Look, Rebecca, we live in a factory. It's like puppy mills, but for children. No matter if you are sick or healthy, people manufacture kids. They know how to make them, but don't know anything after that! It's just how we black people are!"

No matter what they believe it takes to be a man, I think it takes more for me to look these fellows in the eye and say, I like my way of life. Knowing they will never comprehend it doesn't seem to matter. If being a man means manufacturing children as if they are a piece of furniture, then I am all the more thankful of knowing where I come from. I will never become used to this concept and will never accept being told my life is less valuable than theirs because I am unwilling to produce children at any time. This conversation has sat with me for the past week or two now, turning my stomach each time I reflect upon it. I am happy to be here simply in that I can show someone that there are other ways to live your life. I want to show them my father or my parent's friends. I'd like to introduce them to the dozens of men in my life, my boyfriend included, who value their life as much as the next persons. I would love to show these people here that at the end of the day, nobody really cares what happened except that you work hard to respect others, respect yourself and find purpose in your day. To those in my life, that is what someone would want to be remembered for; man, woman or child.

Running in the Dark

So the other day I was at the gym off in my own world listening to music. All of a sudden the loudest noise I've ever heard in my life made my heart stutter for a moment as I watched grown men jump off the treadmill and duck out of fear. There was sparks, a flash of light and then the entire place went black! Turns out the storm outside, which I'd just walked through myself, was roaring to life and the thunder was so close it created such a monstrous noise. I never did see the lightning flash but I"m assuming it was there because that evening the entire street lights were out as well. I waited a moment for them to say sorry, we're closing due to no power. However, once people realized it was simply thunder and not someone shooting like a crazed person, they hopped back on the machines that were running off a separate generator and continued. There I was, on the machine in the dark.

Since cultural integration is so crucial while I'm in Peace Corps here, I figure, do what they do. So, I as well stayed and continued my workout. I have to say there was something hysterical about working out in the dark. Never experienced that before. Upstairs where there are windows, it was fine for a bit since daylight was still poking through. However, downstairs, there are no windows and it was quite dark. As I sat there lifting weights, I found myself biting my tongue to keep from laughing at how ridiculous we all must look, sitting there in the dark, determined to be fit at whatever cost. It was a moment in time where I took a deep breath and thought, "Shit, this is worth staying for. I'm sure this will never happen again."

That night I got home to electricity and a nice warm bath. As I was going to bed, I figured, why not leave the window open. Mosquitos are gone because it's pouring outside and it's so cool here. As I was thinking this, an enormous cockroach type beetle larger than my entire hand flew threw my window, landed on my pillow adn crawled under the cover. I sat there watching, thinking, no way am I touching that thing. So, for the next twenty minutes I gathered up my neighbors and tore my bed apart searching for the disappeared giant animal in my bed. Certain I would not sleep there until I found this thing, we threw everything we could out of my room. After several minutes of standing around amused that such a large thing could literally disappear, there he came, crawling out of the closet and ran into the hallway. I slammed my door shut, closed the window and proceeded to take another bath simply because I couldn't get the chills out of my arms. Never seen whatever it was before and I feel I'll be okay if I never do again. You know, being a person who hated bugs and dirt as a young child, I'm beginning to wonder if I didn't think thruogh this whole idea of coming to Africa. If I survive this place, I'm certain there will be nothing I can't do!

Uganda? Yes, Please...

My frist Christmas away from home was spent in Kisoro Town, Uganda with Ryan and his peace corps friends by headlamp lighting only, half cooked food and a raging storm pounding the rooftop of Ryan's cozy living space. It's not quite big enough to call an apartment but it's bigger than a room. Ryan turns out to be quite the amazing cook and appears to love cooking nearly as much as he loves to eat! Funny what you learn about someone when you surpass the friendship stage! Because it was all of our first time away from home for the holidays, we decided to go as tacky as possible, the weather, by chance, encouraging our decision entirely. When I first arrived in Kampala, we went shopping for Christmas decorations which I adamently refused to enjoy doing. We managed to pick out the most tacky, ugly, ridiculous ornaments you could ever imagine. A bright red plastic star that fell to it's side on the small plastic tree Ryan had found. We got some lights, a merry christmas sign meant to hang on a door and a framed ornament with some girl's picture, which we decidely left in the frame and told people she was our new friend! We even wrapped presents and put them under the tree! Honestly, this was all Ryan's idea as I was repulsed at the simple reminder of the holiday.

We decided since nothing else made sense (hot, palm trees, wearing tank tops, weird languages and new people), we'd make Mexican for dinner. Enchilades, with sauce sent in a care package, chips and salsa (made from scratch) and some other stuff that I don't remember. They make flatbread in Uganda called Chippati. Ryan figured for desert he'd make some with cinnamon and sugar mixed in. All seemed to be going fine until about 30 minutes before the meal was fully cooked. The storm progressed resulting in the power going off for the rest of the evening, well into the following day. So, rather than eating our fabulous Mexican meal, we ended up with half cooked luke warm beans wrapped in cold tortillas with chips and salsa and uncooked flatbread that Mark tried to cook with a lighter! It actually was really funny becuase there is no time in my prior life that I'd have said, "Yeah, I think it's totally possible that I'll be living in South Africa, travelling to Uganda for the holidays and eating Mexican "slop" with no electricity for Christmas with Ryan-as my boyfriend. Totally realistic..." Definitely memorable and one Christmas I'm sure I'll never forget.

Outside of Christmas, I experienced so many things in Uganda that I never dreamed of doing! In the first few days of being there, I ate Indian food for the first time and am clearly now obsessed with it! My goal is to see how hot I can handle it! I climbed to the top of a volcano near Ryan's town that was one of the most exhilarating and terrifying thing I've ever done. For one thing, you must go with a guide, accompanied by another guide who speaks nothing carrying around a rifle becuase of the monkeys, buffalo, elephants, hyenas??? as well as other large cats like the golden cat (which apparently makes it's way to the top of the volcano as well as we saw fresh dung on the peak) etc...you know...all the typical things you'd think WOULD be wandering around in the jungle. Apparently, they wander over from DRC and eventually make their way back home. How an elephant makes it through that thick forest is beyond my comprehension. But they are there as we saw the tracks in the mud, as well as hyena prints. Within the first five minutes of hiking we had to run from a buffalo hanging out on the trail that was coming straight at us. It was pretty awsome! So, dude with machine gun-apparently important!

As we hiked through the jungle, there was bamboo forest everywhere with thick vines. Our shoes were soaked within the first five minutes bc of all the marshland and as you begin uphill, there are steep ladders made of wood that act as steps. There were these large worms the length of my arm all over the place and wild bird calls piercing the forest. In many places, if you look up, you could not see anything but dark green forest surrounding you. It was so awesome to know that I was literally hiking through the jungle. I also knew at the top, we'd be in Congo, Rwanda and Uganda all at the same time! It was pretty thrilling. It was really bizaare to be hiking through such new territory, hearing such new noises and smelling this jungle musty smell, when all of a sudden a cell phone would go off! Kind of ruined the moment. Strange to think you're on top of a volcano in the middle of Africa where there is no running water or electricity in many places, yet a cell phone is able to ring in the middle of the jungle.....sure.

As we reached the top of the volcano, the third hump, the only way up was to climb vertical wooden ladders nailed into the rock wall of the mountain. I looked at it and said, Uh uh, I'm fine. But you'll be in Congo, said Ryan. Lunch in congo??? Yes, Please! So, I grit my teeth with my hands and legs shaking and climbed the trecherous ladders to get to the top of the damn thing. I have to admit now that I'm safe on the ground that it was pretty cool. One wrong move, though, and you'd fall either into Rwanda or DRC. We sat in the clouds and all I could think of was, wow, there's Congo and we're in Congo but shit, get me down. The entire idea of going down made it extremely difficult to swallow my pb&j sandwich. But we made it and it was really outrageous and I couldn't move for three days but it was worth it. Plus, I did eat lunch on top of a volcano in the middle of the DRC. Awesome.

In Kisoro town, Ryan and I hiked to lake Mutunda, drank a lot of beer and ate matoke and beans, their staple food. Pretty much tastes like nothing and is made of bananas. The country is beautiful and has nothing but banana trees and terrace farming. The locals definitely stare you down and when riding on a bus, rather than stopping at a petrol station, they stop for one minute, locals crowd the bus screaming things in their language while holding up bananas, onions and other random things like a weird type of pancake, samosas and all kinds of cold drink and juice. The idea is that you throw the money out the window, reach out and grab your goods. Makes for interesting journeys on top of the fact that there are no paved roads, nor do they stop for bathroom breaks!

We went to Jinja where the mouth of the Nile begins and spent three days there. We hiked through villages and had drinks staring at the raging river so peacefully passing by. We walked along a small road where there were hundreds of bats hanging from trees, making noise you wouldn't believe. I was fascinated by them and had to literally drag myself away. Reminded me of my pet bat, Leroy, I had while living in Backenberg last year. We stayed in town one night and after dark, the locals would pile into the alleyways cooking by small wood stoves in the quiet of night. Most of the children would lay down on mats on the road and I'm not sure if they were selling food or simply cooking for themselves. It was all very safe but something I was not sure what to make of. We ate Indian food, of course, and stayed at a very cute bed and breakfast type hotel. The following day, we went to Bugagali Falls where the real Nile begins. We stayed at a crazy awesome hostel on the river and saw amazing sunsets, showered in the fresh air while watching monkeys play in the trees and all kinds of storks and herons flying around. We saw strange eels in the water, ate AMAZING American-style nachos-3 times- and slept in crazy bangas (bungalow style huts). There were dozens of Australians running around doing crazy adventure tours like rafting down the falls or bungee jumping. It was pretty amazing to see such a dominant water source of the continent, something I clearly did not expect to see in my lifetime. We spent lazy days lounging on the river, eating awesome food and listened to Ryan plan each meal exquisitly while he ate the current food put in front of him. Honestly.... over all, if I have the chance to go back there.... "Yes, Please" as the locals say.

I have never been called a white person more in my life than I was in the three weeks I was there. Everywhere you go, they call out, "Mzungu, Mzungu." In the city of Kampala, small toddlers, age one to four or five sit on the streets after dark, half asleep, at risk of being run over by botas (motorcycles) with their small hands out. They are too young sometimes to speak but they look at you so small and frail. The older school aged kids run after you asking and begging, literally begging, for food. It's really heartbreaking. I thought I'd seen the worst poverty here in South Africa. As i learned, there are much worse situations to be in so nearby. These kids really are dying on the street and literally go days without food, I'm sure. In Uganda, there is not the have, have not as there is here in South Africa so all they know is what they see. In towns and villages, there is no concept of the wealthy and the poor. They are a country surviving on their own land and the concept of marketing and sales seem to be lacking. There is plenty of food, with terrace farming covering the country side, but a huge lack of material necessities, such as clothing, shoes, money for school fees and malaria being a huge factor in death. Seeing as how everyone is poor, they see no different and thus, carry on in their lives happy and peaceful. Uganda displayed the true side of Africa which I have not seen during my time here in South Africa. They have silly phrases. If I ask, do you have cold drink, they say Yes Please. If you ask, are you open, Yes please. Could I ask you a question, yes please. It's quite cute. They say SORRRRRYYYYY to everything and the towns are filled with men carrying half a forest on their head! It was truly worth the experience. Absolutely loved my time there and Ryan seems to be having a very true African Peace Corps Experience. I feel lucky to have shared it with him.