Journal Entry 15: A Day In The Life Of...

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

5:50am alarm goes off. I fall back asleep. I’m often up now. During our winter break, I would meet my friend, Ndeme, at the Masia primary school, one of my four, at 5:30 to workout. One of the rooms houses the boxing club - there are a few free weights, a punching bag and a pull-up bar.

But this morning I’m beat. I stayed up late last night working on a presentation for my teachers. It’s on the revised national curriculum statement (RNCS) of South Africa. It will underpin much of what I do over the next two years (see my SDP post for an outline) so I want to get it right.

6:15am - Thiko, my seven-year-old brother knocks softly, pushes the door open and comes into my room. He’s wearing his black and white school uniform today. They have an all brown uniform too, but I like this one.

Thiko is slender; my nickname for him is ‘beanstalk’ though I’ve never actually called him that, nor do I think I ever will. I just think it when I see him at school around other kids. He has large eyes and long eyelashes, so much so that his sisters and I teasingly tell him he has girls eyes. He’s cute, and he knows it. Sometimes he comes into my room, falls on me as I type on my computer (like right now) and eyes himself in the mirror, a devilish smile on his face.

He walks over to my bed and rubs my arm. “Eric,” he says softly in his adorable Venda accent - their “r’s” bounce off the roof of their mouth. “Mm,” I reply. “You are going to which school, today?” he asks. His English is exceptional for a seven year old. “Nga Tshivenda,” I say with closed eyes. I always urge my family to speak to me in Venda, even at just past 6 in the morning. “Ni khou ya tshikoloni tshifhio, namusi?” he says slowly, so I can hear each syllable. “Ndi do ya tshikoloni tsha Vhangani, namusi,” I respond: I’m going to the Vhangani school, today. Or, literally, I will go to the school of Vhangani, today.

I know what’s coming next… “Big hug,” he says as he climbs on top of me and spreads his arms. I groan, shift under the covers and curl his body into my arms. He presses his cheek against me and I rub his back. My Mom said that when I was young I would rub her arm when she held me - I guess some things don’t change. His skin is so soft. He closes his eyes, puckers up and gives me a kiss. Icky! Thiko cooties. All in all, not a bad way to start the day.

8:15am - Time to get up. Schools start at either 7:15 or 7:30, but I’m going to school late today. I’ll be giving a presentation to teachers at the Munwai school and I want to work at home a bit before I head in. I start to review the presentation.

9:00am - I come out of my room - which I’ve affectionately titled the American Embassy of Venda - to get some breakfast. I meet vho-Sarah (vho is a term of respect) - our domestic helper - and gugu or grandmother. Neither speak English so this is when I really get to practice my Venda.

I love them both. I do a pretty good imitation of my gugu laughing at me for Vho-Sarah and we both crack up. Along with Thiko and a number of other people throughout town, Sarah is one of my best Venda teachers. When my gugu speaks, I generally have not idea what the hell she is saying. But Sarah translates into a less rarified Venda and I can usually understand.

9:30am - Bath.

10:00am - All dressed, it’s time to head to school. The Munwai and Vhangani schools are further out, though in opposite directions, while Masia and Mashaa are in the center of my village. Last year I would get rides to Munway and Vhangani from teachers. But the walks are so beautiful, and I figure there will be a day when all this is a memory, I go by foot.

It takes about a half an hour to walk to Munwai. I figure is about two or three miles, which would be fine, except Venda is hot. Like, hell-on-a-Sunday hot. In fact, I’m trying to coin a new term: “Venda hot”. When I defined it to my friend, Tom, as “so hot my drawers are on fire”, he cogently quipped, “Eric, if it’s that hot maybe you shouldn’t be wearing draws.” Well played, Tom.

The walk is beautiful. I stay away from the “main road” and take the footpath. It meanders through fields and by craggily old trees and 10-foot high anthills. I pass some ladies and they giggle when I greet them in Venda.

The sun is bright and as I carry my umbrella to stay shaded, I feel like I should be a prim-and-proper Mademoiselle in a Monet painting of Paris. The sun glistens in the tall grass as it bobs to and fro, brushing my shins as I pass by. I look up and to see the landscape, layered in shades of green, and the school grow closer framed by the distant mountains. Venda is not the most beautiful place on earth, but to me it’s one of the most mystical. It’s timeless. As I look about, I wonder to what degree I’m here to change that.

10:30am - “Mashudu! Mashudu!” The kids yell as I arrive at school. I sneak around behind the old wooden classrooms and under the twin Baobab trees, rest. After I cool down, I change my shirt and go greet my teachers.

12:20pm - My presentation begins. 6 of the 8 teachers at the school are present. The principal has ended school early for me, which often happens. Compared to the west - how can I put this - school is less… regulated.

This segment, the second half of my introduction to RNCS, has gone over well. Basically it attempts to explain the government’s thinking behind RNCS. The policy is right on, but it was never explained well to teachers.

The presentations have been fun. I like demystify the new curriculum for them. And the positive feedback has been nice, too. After I gave this presentation at the Vhangani school, one of the teachers proclaimed, “Ah, Mashudu, ni a kona!” Meaning, I am able. He said I was a natural teacher. That was nice. However, I should take it with a pinch of salt - immediately after I finished the presentation and asked if there were any questions, he also stood up and, flashing a picture from the Daily Sun - South Africa’s tabloid newspaper - said, “Look, look at this! This man fell over and had his head crushed! It was run over with a car. Crushed flat! Look! I’m not making this up!!!”

However, another teacher had approached me after I had given the first half of the presentation when we talked about racism and Bantu Education. He thanked me and apologized for not contributing to our discussion, saying, “I’m sorry Mashudu. I just could not speak.” Then, pointing just below his heart, with his forefingers pressed against his thumb he said, “It reminded me of too much suffering.” That was very meaningful for me.

The presentation went really well. So well that when it was over, the teachers didn’t get up. They just sat their basking in their newfound knowledge. It’s a beautiful thing to witness, when a light goes on.

1:30pm - As I’m walking home, the local high school is letting out. I groan. I’m tired from the presentation; I don’t want to be a spectacle today.

I go through the usual greetings as people stare at me. Some are scared, more are curious and a very few are belligerent. Then, out of the chaos comes: “Mashudu! Mashudu!” It’s a few of my boys from the YoungStars! Tshimbi, who’s altogether glowing, bounds over to me and takes my hand, weaving his fingers between mine. This is not uncommon in Africa.

Other players come over to fill out the pack with a large representation from the Under 14 side. Off we go! As cars drive by, Tshimbi triumphantly raises our interlocking hands, showing off his very own makuwa. I don’t mind; I just enjoy their company and the profound novelty of holding my friends hand on the 20-minute walk home.

3:00pm - Back in the American Embassy in Venda. After listening to some music friends have sent, I play my guitar. Thank God for soccer, lest I feel like a beginner at everything….

5:00pm - Soccer practice. Sometimes while we’re playing I stop and look past the soccer field towards the valley and the fields, with the mountains in the background and clouds overhead. When I’m having a tuff day, I look around and think, “Eric, where would you rather be?”

Some times you can see the rains off in the distance, coming closer. Most days the sunsets are incredible. Yesterday, sunbeams pierced the sky and the sun cast the clouds, billowing up towards the heavens, in a brilliant magenta.

…You know, I don’t even know what-the-hell magenta looks like. It just sounds like it would be beautiful in a sunset. Anyways, the color was actually a burnt orange, like a certain love-bug I used to own once upon a time. …I miss my car. I haven’t driven a car in six months.

Towards the end of practice I found my way towards the sideline and quietly watched the kids play. I thought how interesting it was, that they wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t here. Pretty cool, huh?

8:00pm - I got home an hour ago. Denzhe and Ipfi, my brother and sister, returned from school. They get up at 4am everyday to get the 5am bus to Thoyondou. People with money do not send their kids to public schools in rural areas.

Anyways, I’m exhausted. I try to work on the upcoming RNCS workshop, but I’m too tired. I eat, but the worms, cow stomach or chicken feet don’t really appeal to me tonight. However, I have taken a liking to chicken feet. A few days ago when I returned from school to find some worms on the table to eat, I actually thought, “Ick! Worms! Thank GOD I had some delicious chicken feet at school today, or else I would have to go hungry this afternoon!” You know you’ve been in Africa too long when…

I play with Thiko and help Denzhe and Ipfi with some math problems.

9:30pm - I pop a DVD into my computer my Mom had sent for Christmas. Every now and then, I need to escape. Good Will Hunting will be a nice way to do that tonight. But before I pass out while watching it, there’s a soft knock at the door. “Dzhenani!” Thiko comes waltzing in, a sly smile on his face, the king of all Venda. “Eric,” he says softly in his adorable Venda accent. “Ni ri mini, Thiko?” “Are you going to bed?” “Nga Tshivenda!” I respond. “Ni khou ya u edela?” “Ee”. “…Big hug.” All in all, not a bad way to end the day.