Book Sorting Update

Still seven boxes (out of 23) left at the end of the week.
The sorting system was using chairs at the back of
the room.

Last November, my school was a part of a Books for Africa delivery that supplied us with 23 boxes of children’s and young adult books to add to the school library. When the books arrived, it seemed best to wait until the new school year so that I could train people from the community to help sort and catalogue everything. At least that is what my principal suggested – and I agreed. If I did all the work, there wouldn’t be anyone who knows the system when I leave. But when the school year began in the middle of January other things seemed to take priority and before I knew it, it was the middle of February and the books were still in the boxes, sitting in the computer lab, almost completely untouched since they arrived three months ago. The first few days of the school year, when the learners came to pick up their stationery, I sorted a few boxes, since there was not much else going on. Since then, however, nothing has happened. It was also hard to say if community volunteers were ever coming to help. Although several CVs had been collected, no one had yet to be contacted by the principal.

It is going to take a few more months
before all the books are catalogued,
labeled and ready to be checked-out.

At the beginning of this week, I decided it was time to take the plunge and get things going, with or without others involved in the process. I figured if I got through four boxes a day, I would be done by the end of the week. Turns out that was a totally unrealistic plan, as it took at least twice as long as I anticipated to sort through all the books in one box. I seemed to forget that children’s books are rather thin. And even though it was not difficult work, it was draining. At best, I got through three boxes a day, and for a couple of days, I only managed to sort two. The good news is that what we received is fantastic and has practically tripled the size of our collection, it is just going to take another week of sorting, and then likely a few months of cataloguing and labeling to actually get all the books on the shelves for the kids to use. In the mean time, since we are short on storage space, the books are being kept on the empty shelves in the library with tape in front of them to indicate that these books cannot yet be checked out. And while it is a shame that I didn’t have anyone around to teach the system, I did things so quickly, I couldn’t say that there was a very exact science to the process anyway. In the unlikely event that the school secures another donation of books after I leave, they can put them on the shelves in the manner they think is best. Otherwise, I want to make sure that this batch of books is available for use as soon as possible.

Voter Registration

My school was the site of a voter registration center.

South African elections are coming up soon: 7 May to be exact. In preparation for the event, the second weekend in February was the last time that South Africans could register to vote. Of all of the things that I have seen organized in this country, this campaign may have been one of the most impressive. My village had a voter registration site located at the primary school, open from 8am to 5pm on both that Saturday and Sunday. There was a huge banner posted outside the school and very professional posters in the shape of arrows posted around the grounds to show people the way to the room where registration took place. Inside the registration room there was a handheld scanner that scanned people’s ID books (similar to a passport) and then printed out information on a sticker that was stuck inside onto an official registration paper. The whole thing was run by two teachers who had been trained how to set everything up and run the registration. When I stopped by on Sunday afternoon, they reported that about 90 people had registered on Saturday and another 75 had registered thus far that day.

More than 160 people came to register
during the Saturday and Sunday period.

Although that may not seem like an overwhelming number (my village is actually quite large), I would venture to say that nearly none of those people would have registered if the only location was in our not-so-nearby shopping town. Certainly my host sister would not have done so. She is 20 years old now, so this is the first national election in which she is eligible to cast a vote (the voting age is 18 – the last election was in 2010.) So the outreach that was being done in the villages by the Electoral Commission was admirable. Just as in America, there is plenty of apathy towards the entire process, but those that complain cannot say that no effort was made and that they were made to feel left out. From what I can see, every effort was made to include everyone in the process and even better, there a quite a few citizens that are taking part.

School Supply Room Reorganization

Most people that know me would (I hope) use the word “organized” if asked to give a description of my best qualities. For me, organizing things isn’t a chore; it is an enjoyable activity – like skiing or cooking for other people. In any case, since the day I arrived at my school, I have wanted to help organize the storage room where they keep all of the stationery (aka: school supplies). The place is the size of a small office – in fact the door to the room says “Deputy Principal” because apparently back in the day it actually was an office – and simply put, completely full of shit. It was essentially 18 years worth of half opened boxes piled up to the ceiling with random other garbage on shelves and in cabinets. No one in the whole school could have told you what was in there. Or even if they could, it was absolutely impossible to find. I wish I had taken a picture.

The new and improved school supply room.
Enough exercise books for several lifetimes.

I had casually mentioned about a hundred times last year that I would be happy to lead the way in cleaning out the room, but there never seemed to be a good time, and I knew I was going to need a lot of help. At the very end of the year, when the school supplies were delivered for the next school year, there was absolutely no way to fit them into this storage room, so I was asked if they could be put into the computer lab. I semi-reluctantly said yes, knowing that the only way they would ever get out of the computer lab is if the storage room was cleaned. So when school started this year, I took a stand and said that there was no way I could have students come in to use the computers until everything was cleaned up. Now, this was obviously a lie, but it is the kind of lie that works quite well here. Having things be neat and orderly in your work area is highly valued in Zulu culture, so everyone fully believed that I could not possibly do my job with a bunch of boxes piled up against the wall. Whatever it takes.

More exercise books, as well as basic school supplies
like pens, pencils, glue, and chalk in the cupboard.

After weeks of moving boxes and discovering supplies that teachers have been asking about for years, at the end of the first week in February, everything was finally finished. I was able to clean out one whole cabinet and then fill it with basic school supplies like pens, pencils, erasers (I found over 1000), chalk (nearly 400 boxes), glue (maybe 700 sticks), scissors, markers (at least 600 packs), and the list could go on and on. When the principal saw it, she immediately declared, “We are rich!” and then had a lock installed on the cabinet door so no one would steal anything. Classic. On the same side of the room as this cabinet are two tables that now have quite a few art supplies under them (think hundreds of paint brushes and buckets of paint) while on top of the tables sit 25-30 boxes of notebooks sorted by size and number of pages. And on the other side of the room sit more boxes of notebooks (60-70) sorted by size and number of pages. What I found most interesting is that when teachers came in to see the room, they commented on what a good idea it was to put all the boxes with say notebooks with 72 pages, size A5, together (there were 16 of them) and then next to those boxes I put all the boxes with notebooks of 48 pages. Since this seemed like the only logical thing to do, in my opinion, I had to ask what they would have done instead. They said they would have piled the boxes on top of each other in whatever order they picked them up. And there you have it.

This may sound crazy, but of all the things that I have done here, I actually think that organizing this storage room is one of the most important and sustainable projects I have completed. For starters, the principal has already said that there is no reason for the school to spend any money on supplies for next year, or maybe even the next couple of years, so they can use that money for other things that they have been wanting to buy – like a new copy machine and more tools to use in the school garden. Second, I think that the teachers are generally excited that they have the access to the supplies they need to do their job. We shall see. I gave the LTMC (Learning and Teaching Materials Committee – yes, that exists) a tour of the room and said my job is done. It remains to be seen what it will look like in a few months. I’ll have to make sure I keep in touch with the next volunteer to see whether it deteriorates back to its former state by the end of the school year. I do hope not.

The Boss

At the Bruce Springsteen concert in Joburg.

What a great start to month of February! Yesterday I went to see Bruce Springsteen in concert in Joburg. Not exactly sure what possessed me to do this, but when I got the invite in October, I jumped on board and never looked back. I met up with seven other volunteers yesterday afternoon (many of whom made some pretty nice signs) and headed out in the early evening for the big show. Upon entering the stadium, the ticket collectors took our entire tickets and gave us wristbands. We were horrified. What about our ticket stubs – the ultimate proof that we attended! What an injustice! Well, never fear. We managed to find a ticket collector who sensibly ripped off the stub of several tickets and gave them to us after we desperately pleaded for the souvenirs. Not surprisingly, we received quite a few strange looks from other concert-goers, but most people just rolled their eyes and mumbled “Americans” under their breadth. 

At the concert listening to all the hits.

Otherwise, the concert was incredible. I have no idea how old The Boss is, but boy can he put on a show. He was up on stage jumping around, telling stories between songs, bringing people up to dance, and of course, singing the hits. About midway through the concert the skies opened and it poured for about half an hour, but the music never stopped. None of us had jackets or ponchos – which pretty much makes us the worst Peace Corps Volunteers ever for being so unprepared – but we stuck it out until the end, which was surprisingly not until after midnight. Every time we thought it was the last song, he would change guitars and count off the band to start another classic. A good time was definitely had by all. And my ticket stub is prominently displayed on my wall at home J

Battle of Isandlwana

The re-enactment of the Battle of Isandlwana begins.

This past weekend was a big one for the village next to mine: it was the 135^th anniversary of the Battle of Isandlwana. The area where I live in South Africa is called the Battlefields because it is where several historic battles took place between the Zulu people and the British. One of the biggest was the January 22^nd Battle of Isandlwana where, in 1879, the British army suffered their biggest defeat against about 28,000 Zulu warriors. Every few years, the province of KwaZulu-Natal sponsors a very extravagant re-enactment event to honor the Zulu victory and commemorate the occasion. The year before I arrived, the President of South Africa was apparently in attendance! Last year there was nothing, which was probably for the best, because it pretty much rained every day in January. But this year the event was back on and bigger than ever.

The battle took place on January 22, 1879 and marked
one of the biggest defeats by the British Army.

Even though I have walked to Isandlwana before, I just wasn’t feeling up for the two-hour trek that Saturday morning. But there were plenty of minibus taxis and large busses headed that way, so finding a ride was easy. At this point, it is not uncommon for me to run into someone who knows me without my knowing him or her, which was exactly the case when I hopped onto the taxi yesterday morning. A very pleasant younger woman said hello to me and started chatting as if we were old friends. When we arrived at the re-enactment site she asked me if I “had a plan.” I said my only plan was to find a place to watch the re-enactment. She told me to follow her. Since there were several thousand people milling about I figured I was safe enough. Turns out she was using me to get into the VIP section of the event, which was fine by me. We walked up to the gate and she started pointing at me while doing a little fast-talking in Zulu to the guard; I smiled and nodded my head. The next thing I knew we were at a table signing-in and getting special wristbands that allowed us to sit in a covered area very close to the stage and re-enactment field. About two minutes after I sat down, she said “see you later” and walked off. I was no longer needed. I looked around and quickly realized that nearly every single person in this VIP area was white and most likely British or black and some sort of government official. The very crowded area I could see in the distance was filled with all the people who live in the area. Interesting.

I was supposed to meet another PCV from the area, and watch the re-enactment with her, so I gave her a call and told her I was in the VIP section. I suggested we meet me at the gate and see if we could talk her way in. It didn’t take much. She brought her really fancy camera so we said we were taking pictures of the event for the local schools (not a complete lie), and that she needed to go to the sign-in table to pick up her wristband. The guard listened for a minute and then shrugged and let her in. Clearly a high security system was in place.

The Zulus defeated the British Army and kept
control of the area for many years to come.

Most of the ceremony was long and boring – and of course entirely in Zulu – not to mention running about an hour and a half behind schedule. The actual re-enactment was quite short, and a bit oddly done, but I really shouldn’t have been surprised. There were about twenty men and women dressed in British redcoats and about 200 Zulus dressed in traditional warrior attire who sped through a quick scene of gun fire, fake deaths, and then a big Zulu victory finale. Clearly the best actors were assigned to stay near the VIP seating area because when one or two of the Zulus got “shot” by the British they staged quite a personal show of dying. I tried not to laugh but found it impossible. A fairly grand Zulu lunch was served after the re-enactment was over and since we had our wristbands, we were entitled to partake in the sit down meal. Within minutes of finishing our food, we were ready to go home, as it was nearly three o’clock. Unfortunately, this appeared to be easier said than done. Even though I was only one village away there were so many taxis and busses all over the place I had no idea which one I could take. After about 10 minutes I gave up and just started to walk, figuring I would flag down a minibus taxi that passed by at some point. As luck would have it, not more than 10 minutes after I started walking, a car drove by with the chairperson of my school’s School Governing Body, and he told me to hop in for a ride home. Perfect timing. I made it back well before dark to show my family the pictures I took of the event. Eventually I will get around to sharing them with my school as well ;-)

A New Neighbor

After months and months and months of being told that another volunteer was coming to my village, this past weekend he finally arrived. Peace Corps has a program called “PC Response,” which gives Returned Volunteers (or in certain cases people with no PC experience) the chance to do shorter-term assignments. There is no training period or language preparation – you are just dropped off at the site and told to get to work. The volunteer that arrived is part of this program.

The basics: his name is Richard, he is seventy years old, and he served as a volunteer in Peru about forty years ago. His current assignment is to make the brand new computer lab at the secondary school across the street functioning – easier said than done in rural South Africa. I believe that he plans to do this by teaching the teachers how to use the computers and they in turn will teach the learners.

After a week in Pretoria for a brief orientation, he seems to be settling in nicely to his new home. He lives just over the mountain from me at the induna’s house (local chief), so I am sure he will be quite well known in no time at all. I briefly showed him around our area of the village, including the tuck shop where we can buy bread and cold drink, as well as the back way to get to the school. It didn’t take long for him to realize that the back way is only doable when it is not raining, otherwise, you will arrive at school looking like you bathed in mud.

I find it interesting that in the two days he has been here, he has asked me several questions that I cannot answer. Like, where is the nearest Catholic Church? No idea. Or, is there an internet café in our shopping town? Probably, but I have never needed to look for it. It is nice to have someone new around to make me think about things that I have never bothered to think about before now.

I’ll admit that it is a bit strange to have another volunteer within a ten-minute walk of my house, but it has its advantages as well. Hopefully we will be able to help each other out at school and at home when needed.

Vacation Part 2: The Wild Coast

After spending an uneventful New Year’s Day in the village (I would say the highlight was washing my bed sheets and pillowcases for the first time since last New Year’s Day), I was off again on another 10-day vacation – this time to the Wild Coast. This is a somewhat lesser known, but really beautiful part of South Africa in the province of Eastern Cape along the Indian Ocean. I had a bunch of other volunteers tell me that it was their favorite vacation destination, so I felt like it could not be missed. I decided to go by myself because I didn’t feel like coordinating with anyone else’s schedule, and it worked out quite nicely. Turns out that lots of people travel the Wild Coast alone or with only one other person and it is quite easy to make friends along the way. Besides, I’ve traveled plenty on my own, and in most instances it makes things easier – this was no exception.

At the Bulolo waterfall in Port St John's.

My first stop was the lazy town of Port St. John’s. Actually, my first stop was Durban, because it was too far to make it all the way down to that area in one day, but going to Durban doesn’t really count. I spent the first day taking an “easy,” guided hike to the nearby Bulolo waterfall. There was a family of four that also participated, which made for nice conversation along the route and at the falls. Before we ate our picnic lunch, there was a chance to jump off a 10-meter high rock at the top of the falls into the water or swing out over the water on a large rope hanging from a tree, but I decided to pass. On the second day, I took an unguided hike to a local nature reserve in the hopes of walking along some of the trails in the reserve and seeing some birds. Sadly, it took so long to get there that I didn’t get very far on the trails and therefore did not see too many birds, which was a shame. My other option was to go to a local mud cave and bathe in mud. From the reports I got later that day, the mud caves would have been a better choice. Ah well – I guess I’ll have to come back ;-) My visit to the area was topped off with a trip up to an old airstrip to watch the sun set and then listen to some great musical entertainment at the backpackers the rest of the night. All in all, a great start to the trip.

Even though my next destination of Coffee Bay was not that far away on the map, there is no direct public transport between the two places, so I had to back track to the local town of Mthatha and get a different taxi to my next stop. This ended up working out perfectly because it also meant that I was able to stop at a grocery store and pick up a few things rather than having to pay to eat every meal at the backpackers.

At Hole in the Wall on the Wild Coast.

My first full day in Coffee Bay started with a somewhat major snag. The backpackers where I stayed was really big and had two areas: one on each side of a little river that rose and fell with the ocean tide. At low tide, crossing the river was the same as walking through some wet sand. At high tide, nearly every rock that you would step on to cross was almost completely submerged. When I went to cross that morning, to buy a bottle of water to take on my hike, the water was pretty deep. I waited for a minute trying to decide what to do when an old Xhosa man WITH A CANE came by, waited as the water flowed out to sea, then scurried across the rocks without any trouble and before the water flowed back in. After seeing this, I thought, surely I can make it. WRONG. I had a hard time keeping my balance, slipped a few times, and at some point, although I could not say when, I cut my big toe on my right foot really badly. As in, a large chunk of skin was hanging off the side of my toe. It was quite gross although not at all painful. The real problem was that it was bleeding non-stop. I hobbled over to reception leaving a rather distinct trail of blood behind me and asked if they had a towel I could use. Clearly I was not the first to have an accident because they whipped out a huge bottle of antiseptic, gauze, and bandages and brought me a bucket of water. I sat for a while to try to stop the bleeding but it was pretty persistent. Probably I could have used a stitch or two but that was not going to happen. I wrapped it up as best I could and then managed to find the “back way” back to my room on the other side of the river. By the time I returned, it had completely bled through the gauze and bandage, so the two and half hour hike that was scheduled to leave in15 minutes was going to have to leave without me. I was pretty upset. Partly for being the most uncoordinated person in the history of Peace Corps, but mostly because I had met a really nice group of people the night before at dinner who I had told I as going on this hike, and now I was not. Anyway, I re-cleaned and re-bandaged my toe and made my way back to reception to make sure they knew I would not be participating and to try to get some more medical supplies. When I got there, the owner was around and she asked what happened. After telling her the story, she told me I could wait about 30 minutes and then ride with the driver who was going to pick the hikers up and bring them back. A nice surprise. So I did make it to the ultimate destination, which was called Hole in the Wall, a really big rock with a small hole: my description sounds lame, but it was neat to see. It actually started to rain just as the group of hikers arrived, so no one got any pictures. Since I had arrived about 30 minutes earlier, I had plenty of pictures. And after hearing about the hike, there’s only a 50/50 chance I would have made it. I think my injury probably worked out for the best.

Jumping into the Bomvu River
near Coffee Bay on the Wild Coast.

Thankfully, my second day in Coffee Bay went a bit smoother. Although I was still a bit weary about my toe, I decided not to let it stop me from going on the hike to Mapuzi cliffs and caves. The hike was not an easy one, but it was a fun day because there were only 12 of us on the journey, and they were all people I had made friends with the few nights I had been there. The last stop on our route was an area of rocks about 10 meters high that could be used to jump into the Bomvu (Red) River below. After passing on a similar activity a few days before, I decided to make one jump off the edge and even got picture to prove it. I’m not going to lie, it was scary at the top. But I’m happy I jumped, and even happier that I lived to tell the tale.

The next morning, I packed up my stuff and headed to my third and final destination, Lubazni Beach. To be honest, I could have gone home at that point. I had had a great time and felt like I did quite enough, but then I figured I might as well see as much as I can. Getting there was

View of Lubanzi Beach from the backpackers.

not much of a challenge. I had thought about hiking (it would have taken about five hours), but then came to my senses and just took public transport. Lubanzi was the most low-key of the three places, which turned out to be a great way to end. There were no organized hikes or specific sites to see. Instead, it was just a few days of sitting in a hammock reading with an afternoon walk to the beach to take pictures. Vacationing at its finest.

As per my usual routine, I arrived back at site (again after spending a day in Durban) the day before school was about to begin. I can’t imagine doing that in America, but here it is the way to go. I unpacked my stuff, figured out what I needed to wash (everything), visited with my host family, and went to bed. Year 2 – bring it on!