25 January 2010

Somewhere East of old and new

8 Warwickshire Crescent
Our front Gate...
Our banana tree!
We've also got a mango and avocado tree

Our pool...finally perfectly clear water
My Lovely roommates
Becca, Sinead, Mary-Kate, Me

Old shoes in a brand new town


Its funny - everyone always notices the shoes I wear. Take my flip flops for example: a pair of old rainbows that I wear everyday, I'm sure initially for the fashion statement, but they are comfortable, cool in hot weather and easy to slide on. Here, no one wears flip flops. Or my sneakers, I'll admit the are a bit bright with their pink and yellow stripe, but the kids are fascinated by the little holes all over them - made so they are breathable while running. My old shoes fit the same, they hug my feet in just the right places, but they feel different walking around a new land.

Yesterday has been two weeks since we arrived in South Africa. It feels like we have been here forever and yet it also all still feels completely new. I think I’ve mastered driving on the other side of the road, on the other side of the car, avoiding people and cows in the middle of the street, and doing my best to steer clear of the Kumbi taxi’s who pack 12-15 passengers in and whose driving skills parallel that of a hyperactive six year old. I feel like I have decent sense of directions at least within a 25 mile radius of our house, we aren’t going much further then that anyway. I did however try to turn into oncoming traffic today, so perhaps I should give it a few more weeks before I begin to brag..

This past weekend my new friend Martin, one of the local guys from Kloof Parish took us out around Durban. He brought us to the shore and we got to meet the Indian Ocean – it was wildly warm and the waves were enormous. He brought is to a restaurant called Moyo where we met about 10 others and ate traditional foods, saw some traditional (and also some awkwardly new age) dancers perform. After which they brought us to Ushaka, an aquarium on the water. The aquarium is built on and in an old boat. It was after hours and was closed, this they knew –but they snuck us up a back stair case to the top. We were able to see close to 50 sharks, many different kinds of fish, all of Durban, the Ocean, and the new World Cup Stadium. We all ran around like children on a make believe pirate ship, climbing ladders, calling to the sharks, talking in pirate voices and joking around... if anyone had seen us they would have thought we’d hit that bottle o' rum a few too many times...

(Mary-Kate, Me, Becca, Sinead...and the Indian Ocean)

After we left Durban we went back to our friend Mike’s place for dessert and cordials. I kept just thinking how kind it was of them to take us out and really invest time into acclimating us. I’d like to think that I would do the same if I lived in a city where volunteers worked. It was nice to feel like we had friends and to just be off of our property for a while. Although I really don’t feel unsafe here, the reality is that it isn't anything like being at home. We have to make sure our doors are locked the moment we get into our car. We can only crack our windows while driving, even on the hottest of hot days because there are often carjackings. We put our bags in the trunk and wear sunglasses so other drivers/people can't see which direction we are looking. We have a gate at the front of our property that opens to let us in and out. We can’t go anywhere alone and especially can’t drive far distances after nightfall.

From living a life of almost complete independence to feeling guarded at all times has been hard. I guess the word I would call it would be exhausting. I’m constantly thinking of safety- safety in numbers, safety in locking doors, being conscious of who is around you and where your exits are. My brain feels like it doesn’t rest. I’m not complaining because we by all means have it so much better than most of the population around us I just haven’t quite adjusted that’s all.

I think my roommates are feeling the same way though which in a way is comforting. We are all adjusting to life here, some more rapidly than others. Some (myself especially) are more homesick than the rest, but I think their time will come. I don’t wish I was anywhere else, but I do miss having a routine, having friends and family I can be 100% myself with. I miss showering and feeling clean. You shower here and the moment you dry off you are sweaty and feel dirty. I miss speaking during the day – I try and communicate with my patients, but most of the time they don’t understand me. I miss being alone, which for me is huge – I don’t think I’ve ever really wanted to be alone, but here alone times are few and far between. I miss friends just showing up, laying in my bed for hours and laughing. We try to make the best of situations here, and we do have our fun, but laughter especially at the worksites is hard to come by.

I don’t miss my phone, texts and phone calls as much as I assumed I would (we do have cell phones here but I only know my three roommates, the three priests, Martin and my bosses numbers... not much texting happens) I do however miss the feeling of receiving a text/call and knowing that you are being thought about. (It sounds all poor pitiful me, and I’m in no way intending that... I just miss getting a text or a call and knowing I was on someone’s mind). I also miss just texting or calling someone just because.

And I didn’t think I would ever say this, but I do miss Henri and the Doodles (Nanas stinky dogs..and yes Nana as much as you wash them they still smell... ) I’m constantly surrounded by bugs, I miss having actual pets. I miss hugs and being close to people. Touch is very guarded here.

So on to what I have been enjoying... my first days at St. Theresa’s Home (an orphanage for 70 boys). I was assigned Cottage 2 and was promptly greeted by ten inquisitive, energetic and charming young men; ages ranging from 12-15. There are two women they call “Auntie” who alternate weeks living in the cottage taking care of the boys. The Auntie that was there yesterday, Thangiwe was overly sweet. She literally let me run the Cottage for the hour and a half we were there and kept refilling my glass of Coke Zero.

I started by having the boys go around the room and say their name, age and grade in school. Although adorable, I quickly realized my retention rate is about 1 % with the names here- most of which are Zulu or Indian and a million letters long. One of the older boys kindly wrote all of their names on a piece of paper so I could “take it home and study it for homework”-And they did test me Tuesday when I got there...I failed miserably, but don’t worry I brought paper, markers, plastic and safety pins so we could make nametags. Typically I will be at St. Theresa’s to provide assistance with homework, but both Monday and Tuesday the boys had already completed theirs so the rest of the time was spent getting to know one another. They asked me a million hysterical and "practical" questions

-Are you a rapper? Can you bounce like Beyonce?

-What movie stars have you seen? Do you live near any of them?

-Are your eyes real? (They made me take my contacts out to prove that they were really blue)

-Why do you have an earring in your nose? Did you do it yourself? Can you pierce ours?

-Do you like wrestling? Do you know who the Undertaker is? Do you wrestle?

-Do you know Michael Jackson? Who lives in his house now that he’s dead?

-Do you know the “Cha Cha slide dance” and can you do it with us? This prompted a dance party, but not before they put on their cologne....little studs. I didn’t realize how much I miss just being ridiculous and laughing until it hurts. The boys have serious dance moves and told me “for a girl dancer I "do alright..”

After our hour long dance party I picked a book off their shelf and had each of them read a paragraph. I want to have fun during the three afternoons I will be there with them, but I also want to encourage their educational advancement. It was obvious that some of the boys (unfortunately it was mostly the older ones) were struggling with the larger words and most struggled with reading out loud. I want to encourage the confidence in these boys. I want to help them to realize their worth and let them learn that despite the terrible situations they came from, they are now in a great place and have the ability to start anew.

After waking up at 6am and having a long day at 1000 Hills or the Respite, driving 25 minutes in rush hour traffic to St. Theresa’s to supervise 10 youngsters will certainly test my endurance, but I think it will be a blessing in disguise. The children are just that – children. I think they will nurture me in ways I can’t yet imagine needed to be nurtured. I think they will force me to find humor in the midst of the chaos. I think they will teach me to step back from all that I am doing and take time to breath, enjoy, live, and think. I know they will demand love, they already do and as a result will encourage me to be the best me possible.

1000 Hills has been a nice reprieve from the hardships that face me at the Respite. I love my three jobs equally just in different ways. At 1000 Hills the other day I worked in the nursery with the small children. I read them Sleeping Beauty while one of the workers translated and then I played with them outside. When it was nap time they all lined up right next to one another with about a half an inch between them on a large mat, they put their hands over their heads and all peacefully fall asleep. It was shocking how well 2-4 year olds knew the routine. Everyone laid down and no one made a peep. I'll add a picture of this soon, its insanely cute.

The Respite has been much more challenging. Today I had a very difficult case. I had to help restrain one young woman who is 17,but looks 7 because she was drinking from her colostomy bag and eating her egg crate. Both things she does on a regular basis. She is at Hillcrest not because she has AIDS or TB, but because she has been sexually abused, neglected and has the most awful bedsores I have ever seen.

Whenever she was seen drinking from the bag or eating the pad a nurse would flick her with their pen and the patient would scream the same words over and over. I finally asked what she was saying and they said she was yelling “do it again, hit me again” - not sarcastically, but because she wanted them to. It makes me sick to my stomach to think about the trauma she has endured. I had to tie her bag to her crib,yes she is in a crib, so she couldn’t keep pulling it up to her mouth. I wanted to tell her how unsafe it was, I wanted to scold her, I wanted to hug her and let her know she was loved. The Respite is such an emotional place. I still haven’t figured out how best to deal with all of my feelings surrounding the work I do there.

During my time at the RespiteI have visited a few different hospitals. Each unfortunately presented a new set of challenges and frustrations. On the outside Don McKenzie, the local Tuberculosis clinic (Where my boss Maryann’s husband is a Doctor) appears to be efficiently run, clean, and organized. When you arrive at the front gate they have you sign in, they check your ID and search your trunk for weapons.

Operationally speaking Don McKenzie looks much like a hospital you would see in the States. However after sitting in a waiting room for over four hours waiting for a prescription I got some insight into the disorder lying beneath the pleasant exterior. Mary Kate and I spent the majority of our morning bouncing from Doctor to waiting room to Nurse to waiting room to Counsellor to secretary to intake to waiting room to Pathology to waiting room to Pharmacy to Doctor to Pharmacy to waiting room to Counsellor. We finally found a Doctor who would write the prescriptions for us, but then were told that the patient had the same ID number as another in the system. And by system I mean a huge book with pencilled in names, no admit. or discharge dates. It took forever to locate the two patients, and change their Id's.

Another hospital, R.K.Khan that I visited was just as backwards. I went with David an OxFam intern (with the most delicious Australian accent) who is working at the clinic with me. We went to fetch a patient’s file and found ourselves in the middle of a circus; metaphorically speaking. We had to pay R20 for the file to be taken out of the hospital, yet when we arrived at security they wouldn’t let us take it off of the grounds. They told us we needed 12 doctors’ signatures to do so. There were only 10 Doctors on staff that day. Eventually a Doctor photocopied all the papers we needed shoved them in my bag and told me to run through security because what I was doing was illegal. It sounds more dangerous than it was. I calmly walked through the gate while two security guards a.k.a. 18 year old girls texting watched me. We made it safe and sound back to the Respite Unit.

I was glad we got the files, but beyond irate to see what they held. The patient with the large wound on his backside that I mentioned in a previous post had been treated for years for a cancer he didn’t have. He was told medicine wasn’t working and that he had to go home to die of either cancer or his AIDS. Not only was I furious for the unnecessary procedures he had to withstand, but it makes me question whether or not his wound is from a bedsore that he received while laying in bed thinking he was dying of a cancer he never had. I don’t think I have ever been so beyond mad and not been able to do anything about it. There was no one to blame, no fingers to point, no one to yell at, no letters to write and nothing to compensate him with. I know injustices occur everywhere, but never have I heard of something so outlandish.

It was frustrating to see how gradual their medical culture is evolving. During the four hour waiting period we had plenty of time to look around the small and crowed waiting room. I was astounded to see posters on every wall chronicling the treatment of Cholera. It was unreal to think that cholera was prevalent enough here that posters were hung describing its sources, susceptibility and treatment. Cholera is PREVENTABLE AND TREATABLE.

It is hard to put myself in a South African mindset. I keep comparing the Rand to the Dollar, medical facilities here to those in the States, quality of education in both. And what we consider the quality of life in the States to that in which the people of KwaZulu Natal live has been on my mind lately. They walk for miles (Kilometers...ahhh still working on that conversion) on end to sit in a waiting room in hopes of seeing a doctor and chances are they won’t be seen. They leave their families to go to hospital to die of TB or AIDS because they are too full of shame to ask for forgiveness and assistance. Grandmothers try to breast feed babies when there isn’t enough food to go around.

I sometimes wish I could go into a place and fix the system – teach a mother to encourage abstinence and safe sex to their children so they don’t get pregnant - give them computer access and put all the patients files online in an organized manner – teach them about diseases and how preventable many of them are. But then I realize the worth of sustainability. Nothing will last if roots haven’t been established. I, and we all must take baby steps if anything is going to change. I firmly believe that some of the cause of diseases, or poor health, or poverty, or teen pregnancy, or violence, or hatred is lack of education.

I have struggled already and I know I will continue to do so. As hard as we work this year to understand the culture I don’t think we will ever really fit in. At work we are the white American’s who come to provide medical assistance or to educate. We don't understand the cultures or the language or the norms. At Kloof Parish (the white South African Church) we are the kind, yet crazy Americans who risk everything to venture into the Valleys. Valleys that most think of as treacherous, if they think of them at all...

I am excited to learn this year. Learn about South Africa and the Zulu culture. I am excited to learn about my roommates and their views on the world, life, love and religion. I feel fortunate to be able to work at St. Theresa’s, 1000 Hills and The Respite alongside many exceptional women and men who will help me understand how best to utilize my talents.

My old shoes, they fit the same, they hug my feet in just the right places, but they feel different walking around in this brand new town. I don't know if its me making something big out of something little, but I feel different. I notice a feeling of humility for those I now walk alongside.

22 January 2010

Your turn to update me....

Contact Info cause some of you have asked me 1000 times:

Phone Number (it costs the same as calling a philly cell phone...if you have free nights and weekends its free...and no I don't get it either)
1-215-717-7444

Address: (I'd love mail, but it is expensive so don't feel like you HAVE to! e-mails are just as delightful)
8 Warwickshire Crescent
Po Box 41
Bothas Hill, 3660
KZN, South Africa

Skype Name: (Our computer is in the corner of our living room so we look like freaks in the dark on the video, its worth video chatting us just to see)
Osavolunteers

My roommates blogs: (click their names below...it is good for an additional perspective/pictures from our life)

It may take a donkey carrying your note written with quill and ink on parchment months to get updates to South Africa from you in the States, but I'll wait it out.

South African Creepy Crawlies

I have been told by a faithful follower that my blogs are too long a.k.a putting his to shame. So here is a short happy little one.

Critters in South Africa are the weirdest. I have really been trying to live harmoniously with them, but it just is not possible. I thought I would conquer my paralyzing fear of spiders while I was here. My goal was too lofty. I decided to attempt to get close enough to kill one the other day. (the size of a golf ball) The nasty thing had been staring at me while I made coffee and I was sick of it. I got close enough to see its furry body and right when I was about to kill it, it jumped...literally soared right at me. I got the hell away.

At breakfast the other morning I saw a lizard chasing a bird, it wasn't cute or little...quite fascinating to watch though. (By the time the bird got a away my cereal was soggy)
We also had a grasshopper in our house the length of a football field...
And saw a snail the size of a child.

A bit of an exaggeration, but really they just grow things bigger over here. What happened to those small snails we did snail Olympics with in 3rd grade? South African monstrosities...

Hows that for short, educational and sweet? Do you approve Daniel Jacobs?

Also for the record Nana just skyped me(you looked good girl)....if she can figure it out I have faith that the rest of you can! I am quickly forgetting the sweet sounds of your little voices....shame

Peace, Love and don't let the bed bugs bite,
-Meghan South African Animal Planet Correspondent

20 January 2010

Beauty in the broken

My first day of work at both 1000 Hills and the Respite are complete. And more importantly I didn't screw anything up, huuuuge sigh of relief. They were both uniquely amazing and rewarding experiences and both also presented interesting unforeseen challenges.

A little explanation of what each job entails:

1000 Hills Helpers

1000 Hillis community care centre is a health and wellness clinic, children’s infirmary, educational resource facility and development facility. There is a clinic, feeding scheme set in place, crèche (daycare), and home-based care. I will be able to help in any of the aforementioned as well as the on site pharmacy or accompany paramedics on home visits and the transportation of patients tothe facility, hospitals, or hospice care in the ambulance.


Yesterday, 5 minutes after being there I was asked to help in the children's infirmary. The morning flew by. I think between Becca and I we took stats on probably upwards of 50 babies. A large majority of the women do not speak english and as hard as I try I only know 5 words in Zulu (Hello to one person-Sawubona! Hello to more than one- Sanbon! How are you- Unjani? I'm fine-Nygiphilla Thank you-Ngiyabonga) It became very frustrating and then very awkward not being able to communicate. I had to try and mime do you breast feed, does your child have diarrhea, and does your child have a rash. Thank God for Katie and Kendra telling me stories about their ESL adventures in the Bronx last year - I used my hands, I danced, I made motions and awkward sounds I didn't think I would ever feel comfortable doing. It became quite a little joke. They basically all laughed at me and probably were just saying yes or no because they had no idea what I was doing, but their charts got filled out.


Mid morning a Gogo- grandmother of sorts, not necessarily blood related brought her very sick child in. He hadn't eaten in days and was extremely dehydrated. He was so weak he didn't respond to pain (we pinched him to keep him alert and he didn't even flinch when we put his IV line in). We wound up putting him on oxygen to pump up his veins because we couldn't find one for the IV. His poor little body was quivering and he was in an absolute daze. Once he was pumped with IV fluid he became more alert. I brought him sugar water and he drank aprox. the equivalent of a bottle and a half in about two minutes. Poor little tyke was so thirsty. The whole thing happened so quickly that I didn't really have time to think I just held him down, attached the oxygen and thankfully he turned out peachy keen.


In the afternoon Becca and I played in the nursery and outside with the toddlers...we were quite the celebrities. They LOVED my hair and got quite a kick out of my nail/toe nail polish. Four of them sat and braided my hair for a solid 20 minutes, mind you these are three and four year olds. The rest kept touching my nails and piling my lap with 15 soccer balls. They thought it was hilarious when I was trying to say Sawubona - hello, because clearly my inflection and accent totally botch the word. It was an exhausting day, but ending it with them was so precious.


Funny moment of the day: The nurse not only asked me to give a child a suppository, but expected me to. This poor child had terrible diarrhea and a rash on her vagina. I put on my gloves and made it happen. It kept coming out because I was too nervous to really put it up there. I guess I'll soon learn that poop is poop and body parts are body parts.


Uncomfortable moment of the day: I suppose the suppository could fit into this category as well, but that was more awkwardly funny. I was told that if I went to the kitchen I could get a cup of tea. Considering I still haven't fully adjusted to the time change mid morning hit and I was getting tired and needed a caffeine boost. Not only did the cook stop making lunch to make me tea but she insisted on bringing it to me. She carried it across the property on a platter, with milk, sugar and a saucer. I was shocked and mortified. I don't want to be treated like royalty because of the color of my skin. I was to uncomfortable to even drink the tea so I let the Gogo who brought the sick little boy in drink it. Although I know she thought I was a crazy person for miming "are you thirsty, do you want the tea, do you want milk, do you want sugar, drink the tea" she drank two cups loaded with sugar and was very happy :)


Hillcrest AIDS Centre - Respite Unit

Hillcrest is a home away from home run by 14 caregivers with registered nurse backup where patients can be cared for in a loving environment. Patients receive a bed, food and whatever medicines they have been prescribed and either recover from acute illness or die with dignity and in peace.


My job as I learned today is very flexible and I will be doing a great variety of tasks each day; all levels of patient care including feeding, bathing, changing wounds and assisting with other daily tasks. I will also bring patients to appointments, transport them to clinics, and go with rescue workers onhome visits.


Mary-Kate and I were thrown into work the moment we stepped foot in the door of Hillcrest, 6:45am. We were paired with a nurse who showed us around, I was put with Happy. Happy is a wild woman. The first thing she asked was "you married?" I said no. She said "You date american?" I said no. She said "Ahh you find man here and marry and then have Zulu baby and be my friend forever" I was like uhh... um, sure...I don't know? She burst out laughing, hit me and said "I funny!" willlld woman.


There is a very high learning curve at Hillcrest, and she among others insisted we jump right in. No easing ourselves in on the first day. She had me fully body bathing patients, distributing meds whose dosage was in milliliters which I double, triple and quadruple checked.


Besides Happy there were two other people who made a huge impact on my first day at Hillcrest. Kevin, the only white South African patient who I believe is mid 40's spoke perfect English - turns out he knows Zulu and Afrikaans as well. Kevin quickly became my saving grace. Every time I was overwhelmed he seemed to catch my eyes. He made me laugh by telling me I could remember his name because Happy was Happy and His name is Sad. And I made him laugh when I gave him extra sugar in his Custard (somewhat of a protein shake) and told him i was going to call him Sweet instead. He got hysterical when I yelped because a monkey sitting in the window a foot away from me and he scared the crap out of me. The windows don't have screens and apparently monkeys get mad when they can't steal your food.


I appreciated the fact that in a predominately Zulu speaking facility I could have a conversation with him, but I also genuinely enjoyed being around him...he is witty and personable.


When I walked over to him at one point during the afternoon he said "do you notice anything about me?" I quickly checked his med chart to see if he needed meds, I checked his bedpan and water cup, I checked his blankets...all to no avail. I must have looked at him so puzzled. He finally breaks the silence and point blank states "I'm also white" giggled and rolled over and took a nap. I think he'll give me a run for my money and also a sincere friendship.


The third person who impacted my day was a man whose Zulu name I one can't remember and two couldn't spell or pronounce even if I tried. Friday I will learn it though! Happy and I bathed him - his head, stomach and feet and then she brought me to get gauze, cotton balls and medicine which I thought was to replenish the stash in his room.


(this part is graphic and I apologize, don't read it if you have a weak stomach)

She warned me that he had a wound that we needed to clean, but nothing could have prepared me for what I saw. She pulled down his sheet and from his mid back to upper thighs was a gaping hole. His bum was completely gone. i could see inches into his body. His spine and hip bones were both exposed and blood and puss were everywhere. The smell of bacteria and rotting skin was overpowering. I know he was embarrassed; he wouldn't even look me in the eyes until I had cleaned and dressed his wound, put his clothes back on and pulled his blankets snug around him.


It took all that I had in me to keep composure during the 45 minutes it took us to squirt the wound with salt water and then inch by inch soak up the puss, blood and quarter sized pieces of his skin that were peeling off. I couldn't get the flies to leave him alone which infuriated me. Patients in the States have such better facilities and it just makes me sick to think that this man during his last days has to worry about the flies on his wounds. ughhh....


When it was all over I realized my mouth was filled with my own blood from biting my cheeks the entire time. Every time I stopped I thought I was either going to throw up or cry. It wasn't the sight of his wound that got to me...I hurt for him. Every time I put a cotton ball in him I saw his eyes fill with tears and his face with pain. I wanted to treat him with dignity and respect so I couldn't allow myself to show emotion other then consideration and love and a gentle hand on his back.


I don't think I have ever taken a deeper breath then when today was over. I'm proud that I didn't give up but it is paralyzing to think that a third of the population of Embo, the town directly below my house has HIV/AIDS. And that is just those who got tested and reported it. Overwhelming. I know that the days will get easier as I get hardened to the injustice and devastation that these patients face, but in all honesty I don't want to get to a place where I'm that 'used to it'. I don't want to be tough. I wan't this to get to me every single day so I continue being compassionate. Hopefully I will learn to be more constructive with my emotions instead of crying for the past hour while typing a blog, but if not then a soggy keyboard we'll have.


Sorry this was such a downer post. Good things have happened too! Pat left today, and yes that is the good part. Nah just playing, I will actually miss him a lot, he has been a great resource and we have the same sense of humor which is always great. I drove him to the Durban airport which is like 25+ minutes away and made it back safely and without getting lost. Quite a feat!


Also, we made our first dinner for the priests and they loaded us up on wine, good conversation, many laughs and a little picking on us. I think they will be an excellent outlet and a great source of friendship. Benjie from the Philippines (which he calls the pillapines which I love) insisted on calling me MIG like a figtree and after hearing that I made the salad dressing told me that I will make a sexy housewife. Outrageous.


Again, it is far past my bed time. I need to recognize that I am not on US time anymore.


Lalani kahle! Good night

18 January 2010

Sanibonani: Welcome to the Zulu Nation

It is Monday evening here, actually quite late at night...I should be in bed already. I honestly have not had a spare second in which to process all we have encountered and then write to you all. I know I'll be tired tomorrow, but I figured an update was due before too much time has passed. I can not believe that tomorrow marks a week since our arrival in South Africa! In such a short amount of time this land, these people and my community members (Becca, Mary-Kate and Sinead) have begun to steal my heart. You know how sometimes something just feels right? This is one of those times. I feel like I am really meant to be here right now. Although I miss the comforts of home, Nanas cooking, my crazy friends and my loving family I am excited for this adventure.

This week has been such an amazing, yet exhausting whirlwind of people, places, and events. We have all managed to learn how to drive on the opposite side of the car and on the opposite side of the road. (also the car is manual so throw that into the mix) When asked if one of us wanted to try driving on our second day I jumped at the opportunity, and if I do say so myself I think I did a very swell job. Despite my cocky outwardly appearance, in the middle of driving when asked how I was feeling the only thing I could reply with was "really sweaty". I don't think I have ever been so nervous behind the wheel. Legit so scared. I didn't understand how the signs told me to go 120 mph on a very windy road until I realized that they obviously don't use miles per hour, I was confused by which way to look for oncoming traffic when pulling out into an intersection - left, right, left...wait no right, left, right, and I was and still am just plain intimidated by the other drivers, the people going for a dainty little stroll through the middle of the highway and the fact that there are very large valleys on the other side of the guardrail that I couldn't help but looking at and thus have drifted my car towards on more than one occasion. WHOOPS.

We have taken trips to visit the four work sites we will be at each day. St. Leo's Primary School where Sinead will be working full time and Mary Kate and Becca part time was our first stop. We got to the school early so we could watch the children grade 1-7 sing and pray in Zulu. It was such a captivating and powerful moment to listen as they harmonized with such dedication and intention. I have honestly never seen a more adorable crowd of children be so focused.

Our second and third stops of the day were to 1000 Hills Community Center and Hillcrest AIDS Respite where I will be splitting my time. To get to 1000 Hills you literally drive through, up, over, around and down 1000 hills. There are numerous outrageous views. Large hills dense with the lushest trees and deep green valleys cut by a winding two lane road.

The woman who runs 1000 Hills, Dawn (an incredible lady whom I can't wait to get to know) gave us a brief tour and then left us to play in the yard with the babies. I love all babies and I'm pretty partial to the ones I know back home, but these were some of the most beautiful children I have ever seen. They were so lively, so fully of such a genuine spirit and love. Despite the language barrier, something I myself found frustrating, they used their actions and smiles to convey their happiness. They danced around us, touched our hair and pushed down on our skin which I later realized was because it turns even more white when pressure is applied. Who knew being so pasty white would turn into such a game? I think I gave out a million hugs and just as many high-fives in my 45 minutes there. Tomorrow is my first day of work at 1000 hills and although I have not a clue what I will be doing I can't wait to be greeted with such affection.

We then visited Hillcrest AIDS respite and were able to get a tour of the facilities and meet some of the patients. I am very excited for both of my jobs, but this is the one I have the most apprehension about. I have never worked in an environment where I will be faced with death and dying on a constant basis. Although when I told people in the States that I will be be working with HIV/AIDS they more often then not commented about my health and safety, that is probably the least of my concern (Yes Dad, I will be following your medical advice and using every standard precaution) but I guess I am just nervous that I don't know the language enough to convey my compassion to people who are in such dire situations. I want to be able to let people know that I am with them and I care about them in their last moments. Time will tell. Thankfully Hillcrest seems to be a very impressive environment I am looking forward to the positive atmosphere and love that seems to fill the place.

Today we visited the fourth of the sites, St. Theresa's Home which houses 70 boys ages 4-18. The home itself is set up very nicely, about 12 boys per cottage and two staff members whom they call Aunties take care of them. The four of us will be doing homework help three days a week. I'm excited to have a location that we can all serve in together. I think it will bring us closer and really allow us to bond. The drive to the home is much different than the drive to either of my other locations. We take the M13 (a regional highway of sorts) and the N3 (a national high way) about 25 minutes out side of Bothas Hill where we live headed towards Durban. We drive right passed the Pavillion - an extremely large shopping mall that we had to go to when buying our new computer. It was extremely overwhelming coming from a land sprinkled with small shacks to then be in a place with every store you could ever imagine. Gap, Bath and Body works, Prada sunglasses I mean you name it its in there. I think it will serve as a reality check every day we drive past it.

We have also gone food shopping which although can be a daunting task when you are on a budget made me laugh. First we have to try and figure out the currency. I guess the conversion rate is something like 7 Rand for every USD, but in reality I have no idea.... We bought boxed wine and bagged milk both concepts I adore. The brand on most things is called "No Name Brand" which I think is an ideal marketing ploy and the bell peppers red, yellow and green are called Robot peppers. They call traffic lights here robots hence the name. They also got a kick out of my Credit Card - the woman ringing me out looked at it and then at me and said "Pretty American". I would love to think she was complimenting me, but I'm going to go ahead and be realistic... she was talking about the American Express card I had just handed her that she was fervently staring at its clear shiny design.

Yesterday, Sunday was probably my favorite part of the whole week. We attended a traditional Zulu Mass at St. Leo's and then another mass at Kloof the white South African parish that our neighbor Fr. Frank led. Two masses in one day! Can you believe it? I'm quite the little Catholic! The mass at Leo's was unlike anything I have ever encountered. First and foremost it was two hours long. At that I can pre-empt a few sighs, but in all honesty it flew by. Everyone there sings...and they are darn good at it. Although I couldn't understand a word I actually understood a lot of the mass. The Deacon not only introduced us as the American volunteers (and when trying to pronounce my name he called me Megma, I think it has a nice ring) but he also let everyone know that the Cardinal has mandated that every parish donate money to the relief funds in Haiti. I was in awe when I heard that and then witnessed a large majority of the people walking back up to give their second donation. This is a parish that people walk to because they don't have cars. They struggle day to day themselves with money. It was just such a blessing to witness.

Also, in typical Meg McKennan style I got a rather large bloody nose in the middle of mass- right before everyone shakes hands as a sign of peace. I clearly got some interesting looks, but thankfully Sinead saved the day with pocket tissues.

The evening mass at Kloof was also beautiful, but the differences were striking. Everyone was white and most seemed to come from an affluent background. I like both equally for very different reasons. And I think they will both serve as an important part of our year in very similar and yet completely different ways. After the mass at Kloof a young man invited us all over for pizza and beer at his house. We were joined by four other 20 somethings. They were hysterical and I think we all feel quite fortunate at the prospect of potential friendships. South Africa, especially where we are located isn't the safest of places. We have gates to our property and a security system on our house, but are limited as far as what we can realistically do off of our property. Heres to making friends who can help us experience the culture in a safe way!

I meant to mention in my previous post that when I arrived at the Durban airport Fr. Jim Wenzel from Merrimack was there along with the three priests we are connected to over here. It was such a nice surprise to see a familiar face. He had been here visiting for two weeks. It was sad to see him go, but I actually got some wonderful news via e-mail today. Fr. Bob Teranova, one of the priests I was very close with in the Bronx will be here all of Feb. to discern if this is the parish where he wants to move to next. I was ecstatic when I heard. I love the challenge being in a new place presents me with, but I also cherish a familiar face!

I'm excited to dive into work tomorrow. I recognize that I will be challenged along the way, but I also know that this will forever change me.

8 Warwickshire Crescent, our adorable little cottage...

My view overlooking the Valley of 1000 Hills and Embo.

My Bedroom, yes I brought my pirate pillowcase and I bet if you are special enough you made it onto my wall o' fame on the right.

Our pool, which is gorgeous and I love, but I do feel uncomfortable about. It overlooks the valley where the houses are tiny and don't have running water or electricity. At times I feel too privileged.

MY INTERNATIONAL DRIVERS LICENSE...I can't promise that I can do it well, but I can legally drive here.