Recently, a 30-foot section of wall behind my apartment complex collapsed. The sky had been growing progressively darker, and the wind was picking up, so I initially mistook the loud booming sound for thunder. Upon opening my door, I was confronted with billowing dust and a large semi-circle of debris emanating from a massive gap in the wall. Through the gap, I noticed a half dozen bewildered men who had previously been leaning stacks of heavy ceiling tiles against the other side of the wall. This had clearly been a mistake.
As my fellow apartment dwellers gathered to observe the spectacle, I wondered if this hull breach would compromise my safety. The complex is completely surrounded by a wall, and has only two entry points, one of which is a locked gate only for pedestrians and the other has a guard at night. The wall is topped with electric fencing all around. People are very serious about security here in South Africa. Interestingly, the owner of the lot behind my apartment perceived a greater threat from us than we did from him. For the next week, a guard sat by the whole-in-the-wall all night to protect the property from my neighbours and me.
The rainy season is finally in full swing. This means that every couple of days we have a torrential downpour on a scale rarely seen in my original Iowa stomping grounds. The rain is making Tzaneen greener and has brought out massive insects that never fail to entice me down on my haunches for a closer look. This behaviour alternately amuses or embarrasses whoever is walking around with me.
I have recently visited with a fellow Iowan named Bridget. Not only is she an Iowan, but she grew up in the same town and went to the same high school as me. I didn’t know her back in the States, but we were introduced through a mutual friend. She’s been living in South Africa a little longer than I have and works for an organization that trains women in journalism. I took her to meet Patrick, my entomologist friend who works at the Malaria Institute, and she took some photos which I have placed in an album called “Patrick at the Malaria Institute”. I visited her and her fellow volunteers as well. They are living in a currently defunct game park. The park is defunct in that it doesn’t currently admit visitors for a fee, but it is not lacking in animal life; giraffes, warthogs, springboks and a host of other animals roam the grounds. I could live here for 50 years and never get used to giraffes blocking the road, or baboons doing anything at all.
Speaking of animal life, there is a large elephant in the room and his name is Obama. The mood in Tzaneen after the US presidential election was generally positive. The Daily Sun, the most popular newspaper in South Africa, ran a cover story asking “Where is our Obama?” On the morning of November 5th I was awoken by a call from one of my co-workers at Tsogang congratulating me on Obama’s victory. Since the election, when I say I am from America, whoever I am speaking with often grins and says “Obama”. When I found out the next morning, I wasn’t jubilant. Honestly, I was mostly just relieved. Phew.
Because I am petty, I made a point of visiting a butchery where I had previously engaged in a brief discussion with a clerk on the merits of an Obama presidency. He contended that Obama would let “the Muslims take over” the United States. My mind briefly considered the Muslim take-over of Spain in 711 and the glorious age of tolerance and learning that followed. However, instead of bringing Mediaeval Spain into it, I just smiled and agreed to disagree. I didn’t mention the election on my second visit, but the grin on my face said enough. I bought a Kudu steak. Isn’t that cool? Try buying Kudu in Iowa.
Last week I was treating myself to a nice meal at a restaurant. The restaurant was crowded so I ended up sharing a table with a family of 5. My food came first, and everyone at my table looked perplexed. “What is that?” one of them asked. I had ordered the vegetarian stir-fry, which is about as un-South African as food can get. Their food came next and it was pap, chicken & chakalaka. After they had dug in, I asked how it was.
“Very good. Do you like pap?” the woman next to me asked.
“Sure,” I say with a shrug and a smile, “Ni rhandza vuswa”, which means “I love pap” in Xitsonga. This is not technically true. I will eat it, occasionally I even have a craving for it, but love is certainly too strong. However, one must be careful what one says about pap in South Africa. People may take it personally. Besides, my limited Xitsonga doesn’t allow for much nuance.
The woman’s face lit up at this. To my surprise, she immediately took her knife and cut off a whopping portion of pap and deposited it on my plate. She then began tearing off a piece of her chicken for me as well, but I insisted that pap was more than enough. I thanked her profusely and was sure to make lots of “mmm” sounds as I ate with my fingers. Surprised as I was at this sudden generosity, it certainly fits the pattern. I have been lavished with kindness and generosity since I first came to South Africa.
There are a couple projects that I am currently working on. One is a survey commissioned by the Department of Water Affairs and Forestry (DWAF). The survey’s purpose is to identify leaks in the municipal water system and to collect general information on water use habits. While the survey’s purpose may sound a little mundane, I’m thrilled because it means I will be going door to door chatting with people. I will be accompanied by a Sepedi man name Oros who will act as a translator and social lubricator. Excited as I am, I am also bracing myself for the inescapable discussion about America with every single householder. While this won’t make it into my final report to DWAF, I will make note every time someone mentions Obama to me over the course of the survey.
The other project is my chess club. I had been kicking around the idea for a while and asking myself where I would get money, how I would recruit players, and finally who I would get to help me do it. The last question was answered first. A friend of mine from the complex, named Sammy, offered to help me coach over a chess game one evening. He knows a few other 20-something men living in the complex who also know how to play chess and can help too.
As for members, I have nearly 20 children at the apartment complex alone who desperately want in. I have taken to sneaking through the complex after work just to avoid the repeated pleas for more chess. I only have one board, so when I do play chess with the kids they always bicker over who will be first. So, with everything in place, all my chess club needed was more boards. The final piece of the puzzle came from the caretaker of the complex. He had previously mentioned to me how he wished there were some way to keep the kids occupied and out of mischief after school. They are, uh, a rambunctious bunch of youngsters—always breaking bottles, scaling the building, defecating in the parking and generally causing havoc. I explained that on Wednesdays & Fridays he can now rest assure that the only violence committed by the children will take place on the chess board.
So, I am keeping reasonably busy. At the end of the month I will be attending more Peace Corps training. After this training, my NGO will be shutting down for a month over Christmas/ New Years. I intend to hike extensively. This will be my first December without snow. Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” has been floating through my head lately both out of a yearning for snow and in response to the Christmas decorations that began appearing in the Tzaneen malls over a month ago. The survey begins next week, and I will keep you posted.
Thanks for reading.
