the land of the free?

Today is Freedom Day.  How ironic is that.

We woke up at the normal time, all set to spend the day at 1000 Hills Community Helpers, where they host a baby clinic on Tuesdays.  St. Leo's is closed (yet again) for the public holiday, so I'm not starting my week there until tomorrow.
Just as we were about to pile into the car, we got two phone calls-- the first from Meg, who was being sent home from the Respite Center to have a day off for the holiday, and one from Karen, telling us that 1000 Hills was also closed for Freedom Day today.
So there we were, four volunteers who'd cried off early from a party last night because we had to work today; "Volunteering never takes a holiday!" we'd said as we excused ourselves.  And we had nowhere to work.
I decided there was a good opportunity to get my missing invoice from my toe procedure back in early March and then I'd finally be able to send off my insurance claim, so with eager roommates in tow, off I drove to Pinetown, where the process was shockingly painless.  With form in hand two minutes later, and it now being only 8:17 am, Mary-Kate suggested we drive to Wyebank to visit Sbu, an 11-year-old who had been released from the Respite Center a couple of weeks ago.

Sbu was admitted for TB and thankfully tested negative for HIV, even though he lives in a child-headed household because his mother died of AIDS.  He lives with his siblings and young cousins in a one-room shack managed by his 16-year-old cousin, who herself has a baby boy just 10 months old.
They were pleased to see us, I think, though the presence of an umlungu, or white person, always comes as a surprise in the valley.  We had brought them a cake to share that the priests had given us, so we left that in the one room they call home and headed out to the yard to play a very pitiful game of soccer, though Sbu showed some pretty impressive moves when he wasn't coughing.
We played for twenty minutes or so, then got ready to leave.  As we said our goodbyes, Sbu and his older sister Pamela approached us.  Pamela goes to an Indian school up on the hill with a very good reputation, and her English is excellent.  She drew close to Mary-Kate and then said, "My cousin (the 16-year-old head of the house) has asked me to see if you can get us some bread.  For breakfast."
There we were, three people trying to say our goodbyes, and then suddenly, we're hit with the question.  Several other questions began to run through our minds: If we buy them bread, are they going to expect us to provide bread every time we visit?  What if we can't visit sometimes?  What about the food parcels they're supposed to be receiving from the Respite Center and the Islamic Center up the road?  And then, the hardest question of all... How are we, in our right minds, supposed to walk away from a household run by a mere child feeling like we did absolutely nothing to rectify the situation?

 My image of poverty has shifted a lot because of things I've seen here in South Africa.  The Sinead on a Villanova mission trip would have demanded that we get some bread immediately.  But unfortunately, though those seven children would have eaten bread instead of cake for breakfast, that would have just been today.  What about tomorrow, or the day after that?
The question of sustainable aid in situations like Sbu's takes center stage now.  Their poverty is so much more than just no bread for breakfast.  And I really don't know what hell I'm supposed to do about it.

As we drove home in silence, the happy buzz from an unexpected day off had long since evaporated into the humid air.  Back in Hillcrest, people who had more than bread for breakfast yesterday, today, and tomorrow, donned bright white shorts and t-shirts and played a rousing round of tennis on their day off.

After all, that is what Freedom Day celebrates after all...... isn't it?

happy easter!

Dear friends all over the world,

Happy Easter!  I know I've been absent lately, but between internet limitations, busy schedules, and visitors (the Cloughleys are here!), it's been hard to get around to updating....... but this just means I'll have plenty to report when I'm back on a normal schedule again.

Enjoy the day and I hope all is well wherever you are.

learning to pray.

This blog entry was written for the Augustinian Volunteers' website, which you can find here.  I wrote about how my spirituality has grown so far during my year here in South Africa.

It’s another Tuesday at St. Leo’s Primary, and I’m seriously dragging.  The photocopier is out of toner again, which means the vocabulary test that we’d planned for Grade 5 has to be a bit more off the cuff than I’d anticipated—but that’s the nature of teaching in this school.  This is a place where almost seven hundred learners have been admitted to the school, despite lack of space and individual attention;  a place where pencils are in such short supply that they have to be labelled with names to keep them from going missing; a place where teachers engaging their students in the classroom is the exception, and not the rule.

But St. Leo’s is also a place where the library is one of the most valued spots in the school; where the enrollment is so high that the administration can’t keep up, just because parents want their children to learn English with Americans; a place where the sound of young voices singing can make even the most miserable Monday mornings worth it.  In a country where the population has big dreams and very little follow-through, the children at St. Leo’s are an example of the hope I’ve come to look for with each day that passes here in South Africa.

Break at St. Leo’s comes early; at ten o’clock in the morning, I’m not hungry and not ready to interrupt the day just yet.  On this particular Tuesday, the four classes that follow break are even more of a struggle than the two I had this morning.  We attempt to review some lessons from the previous weeks after the test is finished and graded, but the learners are lethargic and I’m losing my patience.  I can only repeat myself so many times—a mystery is “a puzzle without an answer”, and “a chance to do something” is an opportunity, not often.  And then, just when I’m about to resort to reading them a story instead, the bells from the church next door ring to signal midday, and the sixteen Grade 5 students in front of me stand up, fold their hands, close their eyes, and bow their heads.  They begin to pray.

Yethi Maria, ogcwele igrasiya, iNkosi inawe, ubusisiwe wena esifazaneni, ibusisiwe nenzalo yesisu sakho uJesu.  Maria ocwebileyo, Nina kaNkulunkulu, mawusikhulekele thina zoni, manje nasesikhathini sokufa kewthu.  Amen.

As the words rise to Mary who hears and understands, whether in English or in Zulu, I close my eyes and lean against the bookshelf near my desk, reflecting on the day so far and silently asking God to help me through the rest.  I open my eyes again and look around the room, at the boys and girls in front of me, praying fervently in the midst of the schoolday.  My heart is filled with so much love.

This is the type of encounter with God I have come to know and appreciate during my time as an AV in South Africa—the prayers that offer me respite from the noise of language barriers, racial identity, and poverty.

Though I’m a teacher, I’ve learned from these students; learned that prayer has to be an integral part of every day, even if it is just a few Hail Marys quickly spoken during a vocabulary review, or hymns sung during assembly as the sun rises over the valley.  The Zulus’ prayer life is one without expectations or judgment, where I can participate in a Zulu teachers’ prayer meeting in English and no one minds.  The devotion to everyday spirituality that I’ve witnessed here in South Africa is inspiring, especially when the living conditions of some should adversely affect their wellbeing.  But it is these simple daily encounters with a very present God that give South Africans the hope they need to push onwards.  This entire year is my classroom, and the people with whom I spend my days are my teachers, gently guiding me towards the presence of God.

my south african pedicure

I'll admit it: I really never expected to come to South Africa as a volunteer and find myself having a pedicure on March 12th, exactly two months into my year here.  But, yesterday morning, there I was-- laid up in Casualty.  After two painful injections to my big toe, the operation was over in about ten minutes.  I made it to St. Leo's for the last two classes of the day, and then spent the rest of the afternoon on the couch with my foot up, painkillers within reach.

The bandage looks like something a cartoon character would have on, after an anvil dropped from the sky and hit them on the toe.  The big bandage comes off tomorrow, so I plan on milking this while I can... and hopefully I don't have to be seen out in public today.
It was also amusing to be strategic about hiding my foot during our interview with PBS last night.  When the show airs in May, you'll have to let me know how well I covered it up...

Photographic evidence, so you can all feel sorry for me or something:

Pre-op.

Cartoon toe.

Post-op.

happy happy news!

In just seventeen days, I'll be driving to the airport to pick up my family!  With good deals on airfare, time off from work on my end, and great South African weather, the package is just too good to be true.
There's talk of Capetown, a Sharks game & curry in Durban, Zulu mass on Easter Sunday, and two nights in a game park.  I cannot wait!

See you soon, Cloughleys!  (And I promise I won't make us crouch and take weird family photos on this holiday... maybe...)

jump-rope is dangerous.

Last Tuesday, South Africa was abuzz celebrating the 100 Day countdown until the opening of the World Cup.  St. Leo's was no exception; each classroom was assigned a participating team at random (ours was Switzerland, how thrilling-- we talked a lot about cheese and chocolate), and on Tuesday, each class dressed in team colors.  After break, the teachers broke out into festive clothes of their own and with the whole school gathered around the schoolyard, the teachers decided to entertain the kids with some games of their own, one of which was jump-rope.  I wanted to join in and not seem like the awkward volunteer, so Mary-Kate and I kicked off our flip-flops and proceeded to make fools out of ourselves, much to the delight of everybody.

And then, because I didn't wear sneakers and because I wanted to impress everybody with my skills, I left a chunk of my big toe on the schoolyard at St. Leo's.  I came down pretty hard and stubbed my toe badly, but didn't realize anything was seriously wrong until a couple of minutes after I left the game and one of the kids pointed out the blood gushing from my foot.

When all was said and done, I hobbled away with some cuts and bruises.  Now, a week later, I've had to visit a doctor from the parish who recommended that I take some penicillin and perhaps get a small procedure done on my toe to remove the possibility of an ingrown toenail.

It's surprising how debilitating a simple thing like stubbing one's toe can be when I'm on my feet all day teaching or trying to run around and have fun with the boys at St. Theresa's (after their homework is done, of course).

In other news, we've had the pleasure of hosting a couple of guests during the past week.  Brian Strassburger, a former AV who served in the Bronx and then here in South Africa in 2008, is here for ten days.  He now works for the Augustinian Missions Office, and his boss, Father Tony, arrived in South Africa last Thursday.  They're here to play host to a film crew from Visionaries, a PBS television show that profiles various charities and non-profit organizations.  The group has elected to spotlight the Augustinians for a future documentary, focusing primarily on their work with the poor in Philadelphia through ADROP, and the Augustinian mission here in Durban.  It's really exciting, especially for those of us who enjoy public television.

I'm not sure if I'll make it into the final cut, but if I do, I'll be the one hobbling around in the background, with a large bandaged toe.

That being said, I did make it out to a club in Durban on Saturday night with a crowd of friends, sore toe and all.  We had a really good night, and rounded out the party the next morning by grabbing breakfast at Suncoast, a casino on the waterfront in Durban.  Bizarre, but true.  It's been really nice to socialize with Brian-- looking at his photos and hearing stories of another community's experience here in South Africa has made me really appreciate my time here in a new way.

In an ironic twist of fate, following a conversation on the ride home from work today about the lack of criminal activity during his volunteer year, Brian came home to find he'd been robbed.  Though his passport and laptop are safe and sound, it's a little disconcerting that his possessions were stolen from this very property-- but it just means we all have to be a bit more vigilant about things like setting our alarm and keeping our slam door closed.  

We'll all be sad to see Brian go, but in just a few weeks, Pat will be here for our first site visit of the year.  Time really is flying.

Hopefully next time I sit down to write a blog post, I will be sans bandages and I'll have had my five minutes of public TV fame.

church dedications, birthdays, & other weekend things.

I woke up at 6:00 this morning, after a night of disturbed sleep.  The sun was shining through grey clouds and although I was really tired, I couldn’t get myself back to sleep again.  That’s what happens when your daily routine starts at 6 am I suppose.

Though we’ve been without internet here in Bothas Hill for the past ten days….. ta-da!  Life goes on.  The break from contact with the outside world was refreshing at first, then tiresome when I turned 23 and couldn’t talk to anyone at home for the most part, but then it was liberating to be able to find other ways to spend our time.  Work keeps me busy and though homesick, I was able to put my energy into teaching, reviewing for vocabulary tests with Grade 6 and 7, and swinging young boys around in circles after helping with homework at St. Theresa’s three afternoons a week.

The four of us spent Valentine’s Day in the valley at the dedication ceremony and Mass for a newly-built church at St. Helen’s Parish, one of the outposts of the Augustinian church in Kloof.  We left the house at 9 am and didn’t get home until 3:00 that afternoon, but the ceremony itself was something that was really amazing to see, as these things don’t happen very often at all.  The mass was a regular Zulu mass, but the words to all the songs sung throughout were printed in booklets, so Mary-Kate, Becca, and I made a good attempt to sing along which helped move time along more quickly.  Following the Mass, the four walls of the church were blessed and a relic of St. Helen was placed under the altar.  The archbishop of Durban was in attendance, and he and some other members of the church and community were thanked in a traditional Zulu ceremony, involving lots of excited yelling from the women in the congregation, the gift of livestock and beautiful blankets, and long speeches lauding each person’s contribution to the finished product.  The inkosi or chief of the area was at Mass with his entourage as well, and it was really fascinating to see him and hear what he had to say about the dedication.

I can now count seeing live sheep during Mass off my bucket list.  One was so nervous it even pooped on the church’s nice new carpet!

The choir in traditional Zulu dress-- mostly black with really colorful beading

The archbishop receiving his gifts: a headpiece, matching staff, and mink blanket from a woman on the parish council at St. Helen's

I wrote last time about going to see the Durban Sharks play some rugby, and the match was a lot of fun.  We had some food and drinks beforehand, then made our way into the stadium just before the rain began.  The Sharks lost (in a pretty dismal end to an exciting second half), but I think we all really enjoyed being there to see a game—and I hope I get to some more of the Super 14 series before too long!

Here's the walkway up to our seats, and you can see the arch of Moses Madiba Stadium (built for the World Cup) in the background 

Our whole community at the game... Becca, me, Mary-Kate, and Meg

I had a very nice birthday; though I was far from home and missing contact with my friends and family very much, I was completely showered with kindness through letters and parcels that have been coming to 8 Warwickshire Crescent in a steady stream since the 17^th.  Thank you so much for your thoughtfulness—even if the cookies did arrive in crumbles, or the cards got redirected and didn’t arrive until today, I feel very touched by all the attention.

Evidence of my recent monopoly of the South African postal service

We celebrated here on the 16^th, as it was Fat Tuesday.  With my actual birthday falling on Ash Wednesday there wasn’t really much room for celebration that day.  The community of four Augustinian nuns who live next door to us were eager to have us round for dinner, so we braved torrential downpour and some pretty spectacular African lightning and feasted on pancakes, carrot cake, and I was given a dozen orange roses in celebration.  My housemates didn’t disappoint either— Meg treated me to a scavenger hunt on the morning of my birthday, I got some delicious Cadbury’s chocolate from Becca, and an amazing fish-and-chips dinner from Mary-Kate.

Last Saturday, we threw a braai which actually ended up being more of an American barbeque, and had some friends around for drinks and food.  The rain held off and we had a really nice time, as evidenced by an Australia-shaped bruise on my upper arm, texts the next day from our South African friends, and the mountains of bottles and cans we dumped at the recycling center last Sunday.  When you climb up on the roof of a poolhouse to be serenaded with “Happy Birthday” from friends you’ve only known two short months, life is really good.

Smiling faces having a good time at the braai...

... and my Australia-shaped bruise, one week later.  The kids at St. Leo's love it.

On a more somber note, my faithful trusty iPod decided to conk out on me this week.  I’ve had the thing for three years without a problem, so I was pretty sure that I’d see it fail some time during my year here, but not so soon!  Hopefully with the arrival of some American visitors in March, I can get it home and fixed and back again without much issue.  Listening to NPR podcasts on Sundays had become part of my weekend routine, and I’m really missing them already.

This weekend has been much more low-key so far, thank goodness.  This morning, we made good use of our early rising and took a trip to the Shongweni Farmers’ Market, where we indulged in lattes and breakfast sandwiches.  We bought hummus from an Israeli food stall, and also some fresh basil and oregano plants, which Becca planted outside our cottage this morning.  At just over a dollar for each one, we really got a bargain.  We then went to Stations of the Cross at Our Lady of Mercy which was nice.  Stations never fails to remind me of my days at St. Ignatius School, where we’d pray them every Friday during Lent, reading out of grey, red, and black booklets.

The sky is very overcast today, but I’m happy to get a break from the oppressive heat of the South African summer.  We have plans to have a community retreat day tomorrow at the Krantzkloof Nature Reserve, just down the road.  There are rumors of a waterfall there, but with or without it, it’ll be a nice day of reflection and relaxation before March arrives.