Wow. It feels like a very long time since I last posted. I suppose it has been.

Where to begin? I will start with the basics.

I live in a village called Mabula, which is in the vicinity of a city called Mokapane. Mokapane, in turn, is the province of Limpopo. Where I live, there is one paved road; all other streets are sand and dirt. I live with the Chauke family. The matriarch of my immediate family is Lina, our mom. I have two brothers and a sister as well that live in the house with me. The brother’s are 18 and 13, while the sister is 18. I love spending time with the family. We do all sorts of things together- homework, soccer, laundry, and a host of other things. I am very happy with my living arrangements.

My family speaks Xitsonga, also know as Tsonga or Shangan. I attempt to speak the language as well. 5 days a week (more or less) I take classes from a wonderful teacher by the name of Cordillia. I have three other people in my language group that learn Xitsonga with me, out of the whole South Africa Peace Corps group of 29 people. After Language in the morning, out group combines with the other language groups and we learn together about things that pertain to us all.

The area that I live in, while having a significant Shangan population, is predominantly Sepedi speaking. Because of this, we also have learned a little bit of Sepedi, otherwise known as Nothern Sotho, just to get by. Just knowing the greetings to these indigenous languages is a shocker for the local inhabitants. In fact, my very presence is surprising. I am often greeted with “Lachua”, which means “white person” as I walk down the street. In the US such a moniker would be rude. Here, race plays a more defining role in ones life; due in large part to the overwhelming legacy of Apartheid.

When I am greeted as such, I make of saying “e-e. Hi mina Tsakane, hawa Lachua.” in my broken Xitsonga. That phrase, by the way, means “No. My name is Tsakane, not ‘white guy’”. I think I forgot to mention that I am not known as Oliver in these parts. I was dubbed Tsakane, which means “be happy” within 20 minutes of my arrival in Mabula by my host mother.

Mabula itself is quite rural. Donkeys, cows, chickens, and goats roam the neighborhood in vast numbers. When out on a run, I have, all too often, found myself staring down a huge, one ton steer that blocks my path. Out of courtesy, I will generally find another way around. We have fairly regular electricity, except when it rains. Rain has been frequent lately. Water works most days as well. So, I am living the cushy life—I am very lucky.

In two weeks I will learn where my final site placement will be. On April 3rd I will be sworn in as a Peace Corps volunteer and will begin my two year long job. Until then I am still training, which is infinitely frustrating. But its fine. I would write more—and I have so much to write—but my time is limited. At 30 rand for 50 minutes, I need to be brief.

Right now, I sit in an internet café in Mokopane. This is the first shot at internet that I’ve had for a very long time. It may the last I have for a while as well.

In closing: I think of home often. I am also very excited and happy with where I am and where I will soon be. All is well. My previous posts have the postal address where I can be reached. If you’d like a letter, I will need your address. So, write me and I will be thrilled and write you back. I hope all is well at home, I will write when I can.