Life in the Ndebele Village

Ndebele Mapoch Village

The village is set back far from the dirt road and is centered around a multicenter that was built by the tourism office. There are two dirt lanes – one for the Msiza family and the other for the Buda family. Each lane has about 10 homes on each side and a large tree in the center for social gathering. At the end of the Msiza lane is the chief’s house and at the end of the Buda lane is the lodge where we stayed that is made up of 8 rooms and also built by the tourism office. The village is literally made up of these two families…everyone is related. There is no concept of cousin – everyone in a generation are brothers and sisters. Nieces and nephews are treated as one’s own children. The familial culture of the village creates a safe environment in which the children can run wild once they hit age 3. All the village adults are watching out for them. They travel in packs around the village and you can hear them before you see them. They jump rope with a scrap of rope found on the road. They play cards with 10 ratty cards left from an old deck. They draw something like hopscotch in the dirt. They join hands, sing and dance, something like ring around the rosies. They are smiling and happy and the most polite, helpful children I’ve ever known. I was blown away by these kids.

Bungi and Gnani

Neo and Girls Jumping Rope

Ndkozo, me and Fence

The village felt completely safe and like a second home within a day. The ladies were helpful and inclusive, the men were curious and talkative, and the kids were as affectionate and loving as they come. The villagers were protective of us, making sure we felt comfortable and enjoyed our stay. There was always someone there watching over us.


The lodge room was very comfortable with two twin beds pushed together, a stand up shower, toilet, sink, and even a small tv. The village did not have running water when we were there. We were meant to have a bit of running water at night, but it only came every few nights in the form of a trickle. Most of the water came from a water truck that came by the village every few days. When the truck came rumbling down the road all the women and children scrambled to get their buckets ready. Once the truck filled the buckets they were carried back to the houses mostly by women and children. I tried to help and I couldn't even carry the bucket a few steps. The gogos were carrying a bucket in each hand. They are tough cookies. We had electricity most of the time, but it went out several times because of the thunderstorms or other unexplained reasons.

Water Truck

The ladies would put a bucket of water in our room each day and we had an urn to heat it. We heated the water each night, transferred the warm water to a bucket the size of a laundry basket. Now the process for washing could take multiple paths. I prefer standing in the bucket, soaping up with a washcloth, then rinsing with a small pitcher. We were advised that you could stand outside it and lean over, but my back isn’t as strong as the local women. I only washed my hair once during the week because it was a whipping. I did this by placing the tub on the toilet and leaning over it. I was exhausted at the end of the process and decided I would survive a la naturale. Plus, the water didn’t come in the taps for several nights and the water truck didn’t come either. I couldn’t justify wasting whole bucket of water on my hair when others wouldn’t have any water to drink. It amazed me how significantly my priorities shifted in such a short time.

Our Bathtub

 

The ladies took turns cooking us breakfast lunch and dinner. Breakfast was cereal, toast, yogurt and sometimes a fruit. Lunch was bologna sandwiches with lettuce, tomato, cheese and margarine. Yes margarine. That’s what is eaten on sandwiches. The kids got peanut butter and marg or apricot jam and marg. We would buy fresh bread from the village shop each day for the kids. The shop is a 6x6 tin 3 sided shack filled with a few necessities. When we passed out the sandwiches the kids went absolutely nuts grabbing and shouting. Most of them get decent meals at home, but some do not. We learned to sit the kids at the tables and hand one to each of them. We had 10 cups to distribute the bucket o’ juice that we made each day to the 30-50 kids. Dinner was the most delicious. The ladies are very good cooks. We had chicken each night – fried, grilled, baked in amazing spices and juices. We had rice or mealie (kinda like mashed potatoes, but made with corn and stickier), yummy spinach creations, sweet pumpkin, and a saucy tomato based vegetable dish that went over the rice. It was all new flavors, combinations and textures and was soooooooooooo good.

Delicious Ndebele Meal

Each day both adults and kids would disappear at some point in the afternoon and come back washed up and in clean clothes. It seemed to be a common time to bathe. On Sundays the families do big meals, much like the meals we ate each night.


The society is patricarchal, but they could have fooled me because it seems that the gogo’s (grandmothers) are running the show. They sit in their yards making the most gorgeous beaded bobbles like Christmas ornaments, coasters, trivets, dollies, vases, jars, etc. These are sold to the Legkoas (pronounced /kuas/ meaning whities) when they come to the village. The daughters run the tourism program doing the tours, cooking, and minding the lodge. The women bring in good income when there are tourists. The men seem to sit under the tree or a fenced off yard that makes the men’s club drinking beers. Many of them have jobs that take them outside the village, but many of them start drinking beers at 10am. I know this because the bar is in the multicenter and I was always surprised when they popped in for a large bottle. The bar’s close vicinity was convenient for us at 5pm when the last of the little ones had run off. Each day after managing these kids we earned a cold brew.

Gogo Sulume and Daughter Minah

The village has its own economic and legal system albeit very informal compared to “outside” as they refer to the world outside the village. Each week the men meet under the big tree in the center of the lane and sort out finances. They join funds and pay bills as a group. They also pay for or loan money for large expenses like funerals and home repairs. If there is a dispute, the men will handle it within the village and will only contact the police if it cannot be resolved within the village first.

The village and surrounding areas are suffering the loss of many family members far before their time. There are various causes of death, but the main cause is HIV. It is a cultural taboo to discuss medical conditions or to take AVRs that help keep many HIV positive people alive. Many of the village people take what the public officials say as truth and unfortunately they information they give is incorrect. The most recent minister of health said that HIV can be treated with olive oil and beetroot. Coincidentally, she recently died. The villagers tend to go to the village doctor who practices tribal medicine, not western medicine. The village doctor may tell an individual infected with HIV that they have been cursed by another villager instead of sending them to a medical doctor. It is common for the men, married or not, to have many girlfriends and the men do not like to use condoms. If the women suggest using condoms they may be accused of being unfaithful or overridden. Because of this, men are bringing HIV into their homes, men and women are dying before their time, children are left orphaned, and wives left to fend for themselves. In this small village area there were 11 funerals in the month of December. The health authority does not provide condoms to the villages and condoms are not carried at the local village stores. Most of the villagers do not have access to money or transport to get condoms.

On that sad note I will sign off and will post more about the characters in the village tomorrow.

A whole new world...

So my mind is racing a gazillion different directions so I apologize now for being all over the place. I’ll also apologize for all the cliché comments and moments I will share about this volunteer experience, but so be it. 


This village and the people in it are truly amazing. I’ve only been here a few days and I’m already attached to the ladies who are hosting us, the village elders and their silent yet infinite wisdom, but most of all the kids who tug on my leg and look up at me with big loving eyes. I’m a total sucker.

I’ve spent the last few days keeping 50 kids from age 2 to 18 busy for 8 hours a day. I have never been more exhausted or enriched in my life. We got it down on day 3, but the first couple days were touch and go. We almost lost control and were heavily outnumbered. Many of you asked what we would be doing and we weren’t quite sure. Well let me tell you. We have painted, played with playdough, made Christmas cards and decorations. Joe taught the boys Joe-ball as its known in O.T., better known as baseball elsewhere, and the boys taught him cricket and soccer. I taught the girls spelling, writing, math, telling time, shapes. (Girls are nice and boys are naughty all over the world…same same). And for the older ones we taught them how to use the computer, helped with resumes, and did income generating and health promoting crafts like paper mache bowls, tippy taps and bobbles for selling to the kuas (whities) when they come in hordes for the world cup. Some of the kids couldn’t say my name so I now answer to kua. I think it’s the equivalent to cracker or limey. Maybe not as derogatory…they are only 2 years old.

There is so much more to tell, but I’m shattered and must sleep.  I've only taken 222 pics, so I need to get on the ball. 

Missing Granny E's Christmas Eve and hoping to skype with the Hesters' tomorrow.  Hugs and Kisses to all the family and friends this Christmas! 

Same Same But Different...

“Same Same But Different” is one of my favorite phrases. To me it means that no matter where you go in the world the people and their lives are same same, but in other ways very different. I learned this in Thailand. There it means you asked the waiter for lamb, but he gives you beef…same same but different. You asked the taxi to go this restaurant, but he takes you to that one… same same but different. This will be a common theme throughout my volunteering experience.

We arrived at the main airport in Jo’berg mid morning on Monday. The night before, we were both shattered from the tour de Madrid and passed clean out on the plane missing all the luxurious benefits except vertical slumber. When you exit an international terminal in any country it is always a dramatic experience… same same. No matter where you are, you are certain to walk a long solitary hall littered with customs agents eyeing you suspiciously. Then you approach a set of domineering double doors that open up to a sea of shouting drivers, crying mothers, emotionless men with name boards, and my favorite…long lost lovers. Regardless of geography or language, this always makes for the best people watching. Today was no exception. We arrived early and waited for our volunteer rep by the gate watching the reunions. There was the student returning from abroad, the young chap working in Europe, the family who only comes home once every few years, and the newly engaged couple greeting the family for the first time (you know they were my favorites). I only teared up twice.

When we met Marnie our Voluntours rep, she walked right up and gave us a big hug. I knew I liked her immediately. She had her 6 year old son Ayron in tow who would become our faithful travel companion and helper. I’m not sure why, but his little SA accent kept me rolling. I guess my inner brain thinks that all kids should speak American.

We trudged out of the airport to the transport that here forth will be called the green machine. The green machine is a small regency four door hatch back with a few dings, a wooden pole to hold up the broken hatch back, and a lot of character. As we made our way out of the airport, Marnie broke the news that the water pipe to the village is busted, so we will not have showers during the week. She kindly offered to take us to her house for our first shower of the weekend and last shower of the week. We accepted without hesitation. It is not often (or ever) that you find a travel professional who offers their personal home to their customers. This was the first of many acts that proved Marnie to be of a different breed of travel professionals. (I highly recommend www.voluntours.com)

We showered up quickly and got on the road…picked up some essentials along the way, including a local SIM card for the dongle (South African for usb air card) that Marnie and Jeremy loaned us (really? Too nice) and a torch (flashlight) as electricity “is only working when it’s working” in the village. I’m beginning to get the picture.

I could see the terrain change from average suburban brick homes, to brick homes with tin roofs, to tin homes. It was a remarkable change. When we arrived at the edge of the group of Ndebele villages we stopped at a home to pick up a child that had been recently orphaned and adopted by Marnie, Jeremy and Aryon. Thabung was a very happy child and comrade to all Marnie’s volunteers. October this year his mother passed away. She was survived by many children, all of whom are now relying on their old gogo (grandmother) and auntie for caretaking and there is very little family income besides government assistance. Thabung was a charming young man who makes good grades in school and wants to be a doctor when he grows up. His first question was, “Do you know Beyonce?” That would be the first question of many young lads in the village :) they love her. Thabung would turn into a super helper and translator during our volunteering with the village children.

Next we headed down a dirt road and came upon a bridge…THE bridge…that gets you to the village. But most of the bridge had washed away. We got out of the car and walked close to see the damage. There was a route, but you couldn’t be sure if it was sturdy. Marnie decides to give it a shot and we decided to wait on the other side. She made it, but I still stand by that decision. After a cheer we were on our way.

When we arrived at the village we were greeted by so many lovely people and beautifully painted traditional Ndebele designs on almost every flat surface. The gogos paint these designs with toothbrushes, which is unbelievable because the designs are so sharp and precise. We met Thsulu, Thulare, David and the hospitality team: Elizabeth, Mama, Connie, Esther and Dinah. Elizabeth gave us the grand tour of the village center that would be home base. Dinah cooked us an amazing dinner of baked chicken, rice, tomato yumminess, beets, mixed veg, pumpkin, custard and jelly for desert.  If this connection wasn't so slow you know you'd have a picture of it.  I'll upload pics at the next stop. We also had several beers, which made the exhaustion and jet lag set in all the more. After some great conversation we were nearly falling asleep at the table and had to be excused.

The beautiful city of Madrid was facing a losing battle with the Hemlers. We took a sleeping pill with four hours to go on the flight and woke up dazed and confused when we touched ground. Rookie mistake. We muddled our way to the airport lounge (thank you business class) and cashed out for several hours at the nearest vertical spot like a couple of hobos. We woke up even more confused. We prepared for a long day of exploring with a French bath in the w.c. and a few remarkable cafe con leches. And a banana.

My first call was to my classmate Alejandro Garcia-Argudo Mendes, the most classic European I have ever met, who gave us the scoop on his beloved city. He did his best to send us to the hottest spots in Madrid if you only have one day...which is almost a crime in the view of most Spaniards. What do you mean just one day? I know, I know...next time we´ll spend a month in España! (I´m still in Madrid so I have the ñ)
The airline kept our big luggage, but we still have enough camera equipment and reading material for a small village. And we carried it all around Madrid. We started at the Puerto de Alcala, saw the beautiful Alcala gate all lit up with lights and walked through the park. We walked down Calle Alcala, through a gorgeous shopping area (got a super zoom lens in Euros - el stupido), walked through El Corte Ingles department store, through Puerto Sol, and the lively Plaza Mayor. The city center was filled with beautiful lights and ´feliz navidad´ and lots of loud noise makers and more varieties of Christmas hats than I´ve ever seen. Or ever wanted to see. After a couple hours we were in desperate need of food and bev. We stopped at a cute little cafe for tapas, paella and delicious rioja. We could have stayed there all night in the cozy warmth and comfort. Maybe we should have. But we embarked, yet again, and continued our journey through the city streets. We wandered, got lost, got found, and finally collapsed in the warm and inviting arms of a Taberna (pub). We had some marginal goat cheese with caramelized onions and honey, more vino and thawed out.
On the cab ride back we thought we lost one of Joe´s gloves. This may seem insignificant, but we JUST lost one of a pair that he got for Christmas and this was a replacement. Defeat was upon us and it was touch and go. But in the end we found the mysterious glove amongst our many wares and were not defeated. Phew!
In a few minutes we will board our plane to SA. We´re nervous but mostly excited. We plan to sleep more on this ride and not be tempted by the unending food, beverage and movies that the temprest flight attendants have to offer.

See you in Africa! xx

The Race to the Starting Line...

Greetings from Madrid!(keyboard is funky so my puncutation struggles)

it´s always a race to the start of any major event with us.  and this was no different.  i guess we are last minute type people, but it always works out in the end.  when we went to bed friday night at 3am my hubby was pretty stressed about all that we had to do the next day.  pack, transport daisy to grandparents, get the christmas cards out and an endless number of errands that i won´t bore you with.  we woke up like two commandos on a mission with a plan of action coordinated with times and locations.  we are better than our normal selves under pressure.  After two trips to the post office, a cvs sack full of anti stomach issue drugs, a b&n sack full of south africa related reading material, fresh nails, waxing, and a$$ kicking by the asian magician/ massuese to get my stress balls out, and one final sweep of the condo, we took a very long deep breath and looked at the clock...1:59... the car service arrived right at that moment.  We both crashed hard in the car for the long ride to jfk. 

Those of you that have travelled with me know that I like my travel to be real, gritty and in touch with the local culture.  However, I make an exception when it comes to flying.  I had used all the airline points that I saved up during my professional service slave labor days and used them for two business class tickets to south africa.  after ten years of slavery - jumping when my partner or client says jump - i finally have time to reep the benefit!  The aiport lounge was exceptional with reclining seats, nice snacks and cocktails.  We skyped with my parents, which was a hoot because we´re both pretty new to skype and very excitable.  The plane seats were just about as comfortable as my couch at home with full recline.  We relaxed, watched the Hangover (top 5 funniest movies ever), ate a big meal with the most delicious olive oil i´ve ever tasted, and slept like babies.

We were delayed by the snow that hit the ny area, but only by an hour and we were sitting in those delicious seats with excellent attendants at our beck and call, so we didn´t really notice.

So....gritty is good, but luxury is better when it comes to flying.

All for now. 

Pre-Party

It's 2am.  I'm leaving for South Africa tomorrow and I haven't packed :) I've just finished another super intense few months of work that culminated in the most intense of days today.  Right when I think I have the whole work life balance thing figured out something changes and I turn into a stress ball.  That's what I am right now.  A stress ball.  But I could feel it start melting when I pressed send on that last email and shut down my laptop.  I can't wait to travel for a whole month and leave my to do list at home.

I don't know if I'll have connectivity the first week, so I'll do my best to post.  We're staying in a small village called Mapoch Ndebele north of Joberg.  We're volunteering there teaching life skills to children and adults. Not quite sure what to expect, but I have a feeling it will be a life changer.

That's all the pre-party I can stand for now... off to sleep