Journal Entry 9: In Venda!

So today is my birthday! 28. Ray turned 30 on the 7th and Alanna turned 26 the day before him. We're all born in October 2 years apart. ...why yes, my parents are German!

For my special day this year, I've been given a calm stomach. This is a tremendous blessing, seeing that it's been trying out for the Romanian gymnastics team the past 24 hours. I ate some funky meat at school yesterday (mulovha, ndo la nnama ya kholomo) which I promptly came home and barfed. Ugh, it was really painful, too. It wasn’t like I threw up and thought, “This isn’t so bad! Why didn't I do this an hour ago!?” but my eyes were tearing up, a web of boogers was drooling out my nose and I generally looked like death-warmed-over.

But now, I feel better. And getting a bunch of text messages from other PCV's and finally opening Darcy's birthday card (she's a poet) has lifted my spirits. It's cool how we've become a support network for each other. Though we've parted ways, we still share similar experiences on a daily basis, which we cycle through our individual filters and then play back to each other. Which makes for a lot of laughs. Oh perfect! ...For example:

So my grandmother (mukugulu) just came into my room. She knows I’ve been sick and stopped in to check up on me. She is so cute. Err, in a particular sort of way. She must be in her mid 80s. She has, like, 2 or 3 teeth and they protrude from her gums at most unusual angles. She doesn't speak a word of English, but that my Venda is still in its infantile stages doesn't discourages her from talking to me as though I'm a native speaker. If I return her comments with a blank stare or an “a thi phisisi” (“I don't understand”), which I often do, her strategy to help me understand is to repeat what she just said, only louder.

I don't think her wardrobe has changed a lick in the past 30 years which on the one hand is really endearing because she still wears a lot of traditional clothing but, on the other hand can be disconcerting because her breasts are always falling out of the holes in her shirts. For instance, imagine my surprise yesterday when, in the midst of my malaise, I sat up to be greeted by an 80 year old nipple staring me in the face. There really is nothing like an 80 year old nipple to bring some levity to a situation. And for 80, you know, I mean - look, all I'm saying is that she's not bad for her demographic. I wouldn't DO anything about, necessarily, but... it can get cold here in Venda, so, you know, it's just a good piece of information to have. So there.

The first week week and half in Venda has been, on the whole, very wonderful. While my four schools have some real issues the faculties have responded to me very positively. They're happy I'm there and I'm happy to be there, but just what I'll end up doing is left to be seen. My family has been very welcoming, too, as has the community, which has gone to my head; sometimes as I'm walking along and the kids are screaming my name I think “the legend of Mashudu grows”. I'm not going to deny it! If you've ever wondered what it's like to be a rockstar, just come to Africa.

I've been exercising, which has been nice. I thought that after doing my marathons and triathlons and insane-bike-trips I would let myself sit around and get plump once I got to Africa. But I don't seem to be very good at that (despite my love-hate relationship with exercising). The previous PCV – the legend of Ben Kelcey: they LOVE that dude, and well they should – started a boxing team so I box twice a week, the kids play soccer when a ball is available and I continue to run. I'm constructing an African workout program that consists of putting my 7 year old brother on my back and doing squats, calf raises, push-ups and dips.

A little menagerie: the sunsets are gorgeous. Everyday. The hues of purple as the sun settles behind the mountains, light streaming out through the clouds, all set over the thatched huts in town. The first mangoes are beginning to ripen and fall and the rains have finally come. And South Africans have beautiful voices. I was at a meeting with 350 teachers packed into an auditorium the other day. Before the prayer, they sang two verses; I teared up listening to them. I sometimes just walk around and marvel at this place.

Life here is not without it's challenges. Two of my best friends, Brittany and Jules, are headed home. Britt is actually already back in the States and we are having a get together for Jules later today. Being away from home – being here - is difficult. I am sad to see them go.

I think their departures served as a catalyst for me because the other day I woke up missing home. Underneath my longing I felt scared and lonely. I wanted to feel safe. I wrote this in my journal:

“So many archetypal images [of innocence] going through my mind, recently. One in particular is playing soccer at Wesleyan: It's autumn in New England and the surrounding hills display a majesty of color. The air is crisp and cool as the sun is beginning to dip below the trees; the days' duration is in decline. We're in our all-white practice uniforms and our shorts are too big. Every damn year, our shorts are too big! ...the most of my worries.

The rest of the team has gone to the locker room and the ladies team isn't around today. Tommy and I linger after practice. Our shinguards have been cast aside and steam rises from our bodies. We talk and Tommy makes me laugh. Then we hit some long balls and juggle. Lil' chippa, son! Play some one-on-one. I like to dance, Tommy is more to the point. It's more fun playing with people you care about.

And then I'm alone, dressed in white, defenses laid aside... juggling my soccer ball in the gentle midst of an autumn evening in New England. With no place to go and nothing to do, I play to my hearts delight. Oh, how I play to my hearts delight!”

There's more, but that's enough for now.