27 March 2010

Hiking in the Berg

Last weekend we went to the Drakensberg to Andrews house. Saturday was spent hiking all day. And by hiking, I mean almost dying. It was the most physically demanding thing I have ever done. Unfortunately as per usual our internet at our house is out. I'm currently at a dodgy internet cafe hanging out with young gentleman screaming as they play world of warcraft. They are closing soon so I don’t have time to type the full story of our hike, but I figured some pictures would suffice. I’ll try and come back sometime tomorrow or early next week to give you the full description.
Cliff notes: The hike was for experts. I’m not an expert. We climbed a vertical gully of rocks and at the top of the mountain found ourselves in the middle of a thunder and lightning storm with no shelter. We were then bombarded by a 35 minute hail storm ( I have bruises on my legs and back to prove it). I had two panic attacks as we all ran through a freezing cold stream. We were totally unprepared weather wise. We had to climb down the mountain face using a chain ladder and no ropes and then still had a two hour hike down to our car. I have never been so terrified in my entire life. Our night ended with a lot of wine, tears, affirmations and serious bonding. My roommates, Mary-Kate, Becca and Sinead as well as our friends Martin, Andrew and Claire are my lifesavers.
I’m alive.
More to come.


6am, leaving for the hike


Monkey on our drive


Snack Break part way up the mountain


The TOOTH and look at the storm looming in the background ahhhhhh


Becca and I, mid climbing the gully


I made it to the top!



Hail


Ladder


Rainbow as we drove home

She's set free...

Nokuphiwa passed away on Tuesday. She was so young, so clever, so in love with school and her family, so inspiring, so filled with compassion. She was so many things; the only one that mattered in the end was that she was so sick.

Its 6:30 am on Saturday and instead of serenely swimming amid my sheets I find myself wide awake. Sitting here thinking pointless questions that always begin with the futile ‘what if?’

Senseless and unrealistic they invade my thoughts.
What if I had gone to visit Nokuphiwa the Monday we returned or the Tuesday after I worked?
What if I had insisted on her getting more medicine or more oxygen?
What if while biding her time she was scared?
What if she was lonely?
What if I decided not to go for a run and instead went to comfort her?
Even though it was only two days I know that I comforted her while I was able. I eased her tension and fears, made her forget about her unhealthy body and provided her with friendship.

But deep down, somewhere in the midst of my own healthy organs is a space I did not even know existed. It is the place where my tears get choked back and where my heart is so constricted it skips a beat. This is the place that feels the weight of sadness as though it was tangible. This is the place I ache.

I ache for Nokuphiwa, Kim, Tangiwe, Mandelinkosi and Lindiwe who have already lost their lives. I ache for all my patients who are still struggling, for those who I have yet to meet and for the families and friends whose lives get turned upside down. I ache for the hurt and sadness that assaults the patients that I see every day. These patients who have become my friends.

I ache for the small children who sat beside me at Nokuphiwas memorial service Friday. Their faces so strewn with tears and their bodies so full of despair that it seeped out of them. As I sat in her school yard, in one of her school chairs and watched her teachers, classmates, friends and family speak I couldn’t help but feel privileged to have known her.

Her best friend gave me the piece of paper that had what she read on it:

Oh Kuya!
Kuya uinuku
Vuamthatha Ngempela
Udade Wethu

Kukhalwa Ngapha
Nangapha imicamelo!
Igwele izinyembezi
Ngenwa Yakho kuya
Kepho owunazwelo
Uwungmahloni

Ushiye icinhliciyo zethu ubuhlungu singabayundi
Kubuhlungu kuthisha besikcle ebekade bekonye ngwe
Kubuhlungu emndenini owushiquile

Hamba Kahle Nokuphiwa

Ubuyintombi ezintombini
Ubuyiphawe lamaghuwe
Kepho izinhlungu zikudlile

Ubuyikhokonke kithina
Siyohlezi Sikuthanda!
Siyohlezi Sikukhumbula!

Ulale ngocolo
Lalu Ngkuthula magatsheni omuhle
Usikhumule kwelizayo!

In just two days, the first at the Respite which I have already written about and the second the day after when I visited her in the hospital she changed my life. She provided me with friendship and love. She let me see through her eyes to the fragility of life and also to the beauty of life.

The second time I went to visit her she had been moved to a bed that had an oxygen tank attached to it. She opened her eyes as I took her hand in mine. She told me she accepted her sickness and was ready to see her family in heaven. I assured her that she was getting better and she looked and smiled. She closed her eyes and I rubbed her arm until she fell asleep. I kissed her forehead and whispered that I would be back on Monday to visit, but as I walked out of Ward 2 I knew deep down that, that would be the last time I saw her.

The day of her memorial service sadness surrounded be, it was perched on the rooftop, looking down at me. But seated next to it was a small bird with wings of gold. Every time I looked up at it, it seemed to be smiling at me. When the service concluded the bird flew over everyone and then let out one glorious song as it flew away. At that moment I knew Nokuphiwa was set free.

(Translation of her friends letter)
Oh Death!
You you ugly!
You really too my sister.

People are crying
Left and right
The pillows are
Full of tears, because
Of you, but you Nokuphiwa
have compassion
you also don’t have shame

You left our sore hearts
When we were still at school
Even the teachers have hearts sore
That they weren’t with you.
It also sore in the family you left.

Go well Nokuphiwa!
You were the girl in girls
You were the hero of the heroes.
But you were in agony and pain.
You were everything to us.
We will always love you!
We will always miss you!

Rest in peace
Rest in peace beautiful Ndlouvu
We will miss you!

Cottage 1, My boys

Family day at St. Theresas was today. My cottage one boys performed a poem for their families, friends and the other boys at the Home. They worked so hard on memorization!

Below, a video of one of the practices. A few forgotten lines, but I couldn’t be more proud of them.

18 March 2010

overdue pictures

After writing two heavy blogs I figured I would add something a bit lighter. These pictures just need to be on here. The first two are of the four of us girls and Brian Strassburger a former AV (in the Bronx and then South Africa) They are from right before the filming of our TV debut.

Brian and Fr. Tony from the Augustinian Missions Office were accompanied by a crew from the beloved PBS. They where here filming for a documentary program called Visionaries which profiles non profit organizations. Part of the segment will feature the work that the Augustinians do in Philly and then what they do over here and of course what the glorious Augustinian Volunteers do.

They filmed the girls teaching at St. Leos, the four of us playing with the children at St. Theresas, Baba Benji and I delivering food parcels in the valley and then they interviewed the five of us. Yes the picture of the five of us looks like an Ad for "MTVs Real World SOUTH AFRICA" don’t worry I’ll sign autographs

The third are my boys at St. Theresas who always always always bring a smile to my face. Please note I’m getting a piggy back from a munchkin

The fourth is a picture of our FRIENDS!! Taken at Sineads birthday. Clearly we wear teaching them flip cup. We are going to the Drakensberg with the boys this weekend to do some hiking and just relax which I couldn’t be more excited about!

Life here is hard, but there are many things and many people that make me smile









Love until it hurts

I’m exhausted. Physically, mentally and emotionally. I can’t decided if I am tired because I had one too many Irish carbombs and green beer at karaoke last night in celebration of St. Patrick’s Day or because I am so overwhelmed by emotions on such a consistent basis that my body is in perma overdrive. Everyday I feel so many emotions. There are moments of insane happiness followed by sheer sadness. I get stressed out and anxious and frustrated and mad. A lot of the time I’m thankful and appreciative, optimistic and content.

South Africa makes you feel. Experiencing so many emotions in such close proximity to each other makes me tired.

Today I was in the car from 6:45 am until 2:30 pm driving patients to various hospitals and clinics. My emotion, besides exhaustion was annoyance. As I walked into the Respite after what seemed like hours and realized it was only 10 am all I could think about was getting out of there, getting into the car with the girls (having someone else drive) and eating whatever delicious lunch they had made me.

As I entered the ward I found myself standing face to face with a very young, very sick child. She looked at me with the most terrified hallow eyes I have ever seen. I did the only thing I could think of I pulled her into me and cradled her for what seemed like forever. When I released her a single tear fell from her eyes and in eloquent English she said “That is the first hug I have had in a very long time, longer then I can remember”.

Six hours. SIX HOURS is all I got to spend with her. A blink of an eye, but I have never been so transformed in such a short amount of time.

I brought her to Bothas Hill Clinic to get an X-Ray. She looked terrified and all I could think about was how scared I would be to be alone in a hospital I'm 24...and she is just 14. While we waited I tried my best to console her with simple silly stories and telling her about me. Mid conversation I got the overwhelming desire to stop talking at her and instead really reach her.

I told her how scared and lonely I sometimes feel being away from home and that those are okay to feel. I told her how sometimes there are so many overwhelming feelings inside of you that just need to be released. I told her I was a good listener and as if those were the magic words she opened up.

Our conversation lasted the entire afternoon. Her name is Nokuphiwa Ndlovu. Shes the most gorgeous 14 year old I have ever seen; her skin is creamy black and her big brown eyes are encircled by the longest eyelashes I have ever seen. She lives with her Gogo (grandmother) in Inchanga. She is an orphan. I made her a journal just like I made Sibu and on the cover she wrote “My OWN book” and looked at me and said "I’ve never owned one of my own before."

She told me about the pain of loosing her parents to AIDS and how she misses them every second of every day. She told me that at her Mothers funeral her aunt ripped her cross off of her neck and told her to stop praying. She asked me if I thought she would have the opportunity to see her parents again. I told her that I firmly believe in the goodness of God and the perfect reuniting of loved ones in heaven and until that day of meeting, our loved ones proudly look down on us showering us with love. Love that may be unseen, but is ever present. At which point she smiled for the first time all day.

She told me that she loves school, but is took sick to attend and that her little ten year old brother will borrow books from his teacher and together at night by candle light they copy page by page each word. She memorizes the words and when she can’t figure out their meaning her brother will walk around asking everyone in the community until he gets the answer. She told me that at school people call her "Little" because she is so frail and sick.

As we together looked at her chest x-ray which showcased the worst TB I have ever seen she told me she is HIV positive. She tested negative as a baby and does not know where she got the AIDS virus from.

She told me that most days she wants to die because living with AIDS and TB is too painful. Her words “I’m 14, I know most 14 year olds here have sex- unprotected sex, but I have never done it. I don’t even have a boyfriend. After my parents died I got sick and I don’t understand how. Why me? Why when I am so good and I try so hard to be nice do I have to hurt inside so much”

She told me she dreams of fairytales where she is the princess, but shes not perfect and shes not living in a big huge castle just a nice home and she is not sick. Amid my tears she told me she’s too sad to cry anymore tears, that her insides are dry.

Hillcrest Respite is a wonderful facility, but unfortunately not equipped to deal with such extreme cases so she was transferred to Don McKenzie. As I was driving her there I asked her if I could get her anything what would she want and she replied “Something warm that I can remember you by”.

A lot of times here I feel like I cant do enough here, more often then that I feel like I cant do anything at all, but with Nokuphiwa I felt like I could give from my abundance. Call it impulsive, call it unsustainable, but I turned the car around and drove to my house. I found her a fleece blanket, two of my warmest long sleeved shirts and scarves to match (she had complimented the scarf I was wearing today and told me she had never seen one before).

There are many times here that I feel like I am wearing the same outfits over and over because I didn’t bring many clothing options with me...just two huge suitcases...looking at my closet today I saw an overabundance of options.

As I exited my room I remembered her telling me her cross had been ripped off of her. At commissioning Mass before the volunteers head to their respective work sites each of us is given a silver St. Augustine pendant. This being my second volunteer year I have two of the exact same pendants. One I wear on a silver chain next to the cross my family gave me and the other hangs on my jewellery holder, untouched.

I placed the necklace on her and told her about St. Augustine she kept saying “eskis”. When I asked her what it meant she said there is no real way to translate it and do it justice, but simplified it means “somewhere in my soul I am so full and complete at this moment”.

As we arrived at the hospital and I tucked her into her bed and reassured her that I would visit and she would get well and that my tears weren’t because I was sad, but because I was so happy to have met her she said something that will stick with me forever

“Maggie" she started, "I don’t have anything. I don’t own anything but what you gave me today. I can’t give you anything but this piece of my tissue. If you use it today your tears will dry, but if you keep it forever your tears will always be dried because I love you.”

I understand now more then ever what Mother Teresa means when she says “I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love”

In the midst of my compassion fatigue and feeling so helpless and so unsure of why I am here, Nokuphiwa reassured me that I was exactly where I was supposed to be for that moment in time. She found and then stole my heart.

You're a real Zulu when you eat KFC




Three weeks ago an 11 year old boy was admitted to the Respite. He was severely malnourished and had the most awful cough I have ever heard. A wealthy white woman brought him in per request of her domestic worker who is his neighbor down in the valley. Looking at him was like looking through him. He was so shut down. Every so often he would grace us with a fleeting look, but more often he was hidden beneath his blanket; a shield from the outside world.

Bits and pieces of information about his life started coming in. His name – Sibusiso. Age – 11. Living in Weybank. Orphan.

I don’t know what it is about children that sucks me in, but I wanted to be around him every second of my day. When I wasn’t sitting near him trying to get through to him I wanted to be there. I read to him, I sang to him, I drew him pictures and made silly faces. I crafted a journal of some sorts out of paper tied together with yarn and left it in his bed with markers and crayons (thank you cousin Chels for the supplies)

My borderline harassing efforts paid off. Mary-Kate, who alternates days at the Respite with me came home one evening and told me that I had to look at his journal the next day. To my surprise I found pages upon pages of drawings. A chicken, a car, a house, and images upon images of a white girl with brown hair. Next to each of the images of the girl he had written “Meg. Meg. Meg.”

From that moment on something changed. I would walk in, in the mornings and be greeted with a hug. I’d walk into another room and notice I had a shadow. He became my tag along friend. Every time I drove other patients to their appointments he was my co-pilot, sitting shotty.

I’ve always been a firm believer that a friendship can be found anywhere as long as you are open. His little hand fit perfectly in mine and regardless of the fact that we couldn’t communicate in the same language I would often find myself deep in a conversation that was a mixture of simple words and elaborate actions.

Two excursions in particular stand out in my mind. The first, he joined me in trekking around KZedN collecting papers and tablets for patients who were too sick to go to the clinics. I stopped at a store to buy him chapstick for his crusty crusts (I had to say it Vermont girls) and I asked him if he was hungry. I ended up buying him a bowl full of fried chicken, three rolls and a coke. For being 40lbs the kid, like any other 11 year old boy can pack away food.

Watching Sibu devour his lunch made my stomach grumble. He looked over at me, laughed and handed me a piece of chicken. I tried to give it back to him, but he kept shoving it towards my face so clearly I couldn’t resist.

As we sat lounging in the Kwikspar parking lot, stuffing our faces with chicken I couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. My fingers and face were covered in grease and I was holding a pile of gnawed on chicken bones. He threw his bones out the window and looked at me with a guilty "nothing to see here" look. I in return shrugged and threw mine out the window and we both laughed until it hurt.

As I pulled out of the parking lot I felt accepted in his world.

I brought him back to the Respite, which was unusually quiet and slow for a Friday. We sat around drawing and complaining that it was “shesha” – too hot which gave me the idea to try and convince my boss to let me take him to my house to go swimming.

Sibu and Delisile another patient whose health is on the mend and whose personality is sparking packed up towels and juice, magazines and sunglasses and headed for my house. For the first time in my life I was nervous about appearing like I had to much; too big of a house, too many possessions, a pool for goodness sake.

The afternoon was spent having underwater tea parties and doing handstand competitions, races and splashing contests. More than once I was thankful that I was in a pool surrounded by water because watching them brought tears to my eyes. At one point during the day I looked up and saw Sibu looking out over the valley.

The stark contrast of the two parallel worlds was more apparent to me then ever before. Behind him, an enormous pool with crystal clear water, gorgeous property and huge beautiful houses. In front of him valleys dotted with small cinderblock homes with no water. I walked up to him and put my arm around him and we sat like that for a very very long time. (Later that night I realized that Deli had taken a few pictures of us, all of which don't do the intensity of the moment justice, but are very cute)



Our day ended with me driving them back to the Respite while they chattered away in Zulu. I asked Deli what they were saying and she said that they named me “icecream” because I am very white and very sweet.

Day by day Sibu’s heath improved and instead of giving him piggy backs as we walked up to the administrative office we would run. Upon arrival to work early Tuesday morning I was heartbroken when I saw his empty bed. Consoled by the fact that he had probably been well enough to be discharged and return back home I began to walk away when a blur of blue wizzed by me.

I outbursted as I realized Sibu was roller-skating through the respite unit; spinning circles around the nurses, ducking under tables and sticking his tongue out at me at every chance. I had to sit on the floor I was laughing so hard, I honestly thought I was going to pee my pants. He didn’t just look good; he looked like a perfect 11 year old.

That afternoon Mary-Kate and I packed bags upon bags of toys and books that he had accumulated during his stay at the Respite and then accompanied a social worker in bringing him home. Both of Sibu’s parents have passed away. He lives down a winding road over the side of a steep embankment in a one room cinder block house with his 19 year old cousin as the primary caregiver. She is responsible for a 16 year old, a 14 year old, Sibu and another 11 year old, a 9 year old, a 5 year old, a 3 year old and her own 9 month old baby. There are two very small beds and a rug on the floor for some to sleep on.

I printed him three pictures, one of him jumping in the pool, one of him and I and one of Mary-Kate and I. As I handed him the pictures and hugged him goodbye I couldn’t help but feel overpowered by emotion. I was exuberant to see him so healthy and at home and I was also sad to say goodbye to my co-pilot. Mary-Kate and I have already talked about trying to visit him once a week which would be beneficial for both him and us.

He really taught me that if I know 1 Zulu word or 1000 it really doesn't matter. Conversations don't always have to be a verbal exchange between two understanding parties, love and friendship says it all.

14 March 2010

Shoelaces tied tight

Each Lent the Augustinian Volunteers have various current volunteers, alums, site supervisors and others involved with the program write reflections. Today March 14th the 4th Sunday of Lent was my day so I thought I'd share my reflection with you. I took a bit from a blog I have already written, plagiarizing myself... It is on the following readings, mostly the Prodigal son

Readings: Jos 5:9a, 10-12; Ps 23: 1-3a, 3b-4, 5, 6; 2 Cor 5:17-21; Lk 15:1-3, 11-32

Its funny - everyone in South Africa seems to notice the shoes I wear. Take my sneakers for example: I'll admit they are a bit bright with their pink and yellow stripe, but they are practical, they hug my feet in just the right places and provide me comfort.
On a daily basis we as Volunteers are asked to set aside our own comforts and be the dutiful ones. Armed with passion, we strive to offer education and guidance, support and solutions, love and compassion. Wearing the shoes of the Lord, we walk the path of righteousness. Just as the eldest son in today’s Gospel reading, we too undertake the burdens of another; requesting little to nothing in return.

These daily undertakings are often challenging, frustrating and tiresome; they wear on our hearts, our relationships and our souls. In unfamiliar cultures, states, and lands we are tiptoeing amid discouragement, fear, death and poverty. We give of ourselves in ways that can sometimes seem like too much. It is in these moments of hesitation or self doubt, resentment, lack of courage, lack of energy or lack of faith that we stray away from God, just as the younger son did.

Although challenging, we must realize that all we need to do is to stop walking away, turn around and head back towards God. It is he who has been waiting patiently for us with open arms all along; ready to celebrate our return and share the weight of our burdens. He is hidden amid the hardest of days, found within the silence of the oppressed, in the tears of the downtrodden and the frustrations of the broken.

Just as our old shoes hug our feet in all the right places, comforting us as we accomplish daily undertakings, God too is our support. As Volunteers He has blessed each of us with a burden, just as he blessed both the sons in the Gospel. What is important to remember is that it is He who is waiting at our front door each morning, ready to tie our shoelaces tight and make the journey with our souls.

04 March 2010

As I sit here and try to think of all the wonderful things that happened to me today all my mind can focus on was my experience at St. Theresa’s. As I have mentioned in previous posts working there isn’t work, its fun and play and filled with love. Cottage two has become a part of me, the boys have become my family.

As we pulled into the gates we had the normal welcome crowd waving and yelling, dancing and running along side our car. Until they realized that we had brought Brian with us (former volunteer worked at St. Theresas school and at the home). The boys literally went wild. I have never seen them be so productive doing their homework as to get outside and “TACKLE UNCLE BRIAAAAN”. I and the other girls were sitting back relaxing and letting Brian do the work, enjoying our little moment of freedom when I realized I hadn’t seen all the boys from my cottage; one in particular.

I was devastated to hear the news that he was transferred and I didn’t get to say goodbye to him. Figuring he had either been adopted or placed in foster care I questioned the reasoning behind transferring him and asked where he went and the laughter and jubilance fell silent. I changed the subject and found a private moment to ask the Auntie what had happened right before we left.

With a solemn face she told me of reports of abuse on others in the cottage. My heart broke. I couldn’t even focus on what she was saying. I caught bits and pieces of conversation and can piece it together in my mind. I just couldn’t believe it.

My boys have literally become my family
Shaldon, who looks like an Indian version of my cousin Evan blushes as he peeks at me under long eyelashes. He has the best aim in marbles and a heart of gold.

Lindo is my protector, always defending my awful soccer skills and terrible pronunciation of Zulu words.

Sizwe is the cottage clown, always finding a way to make me and everyone else around laugh.

Lyle is silent, but when he has something to say it is always so profound.

Siya is an angel, loves to laugh, loves to play and loves to love.

Mxolisi is too cool for school and avoids my questions at all costs, but is the first to give me a hug upon my arrival or to slip his hand in mine while we are walking.

Kwanele is my little boyfriend. His smile is as big as the horizon and his laugh is contagious.

Keegan is one of the smartest children I have met, conscientious and always willing to assist others with homework. He checks in with me asking how my day was and if I miss people from home.

I know deep down that these boys have been hurt, abandoned, left, destroyed, broken and neglected, but I try my best not to think about it. But my boys are full of spirit and love. They are resilient and strong. They provide me with so much love and support and it makes me ache inside to think about anyone of them being hurt.

I knew this year would be hard, the ups the downs, the death and disarray. I guess I just didn’t realize how completely overwhelmed with emotions I would feel every single day and how tested my faith would be.

5 dolla holla

I can’t even begin to count how many times I have been asked if I am going to the World Cup. I think people sometimes forget that not only am I volunteering, but I don’t even have a stipend so saving up for world events is not exactly a priorty.

That being said I had the pleasure of attending a Bafana Bafana (South Africas national football (soccer) game last night. The girls were tired so I joined all our Kloof friends and Brian Straussberger ( a former volunteer from both the Bronx and South Africa who is currently visiting us) for the game.

Did I forget to mention that the game was held in the new Moses Mabida Stadium in Durban which will holds 70,000 people and will be one of the stadiums used during the 2010 FIFA World Cup.

Although they tied Namibia, the game was outrageously fun. I have never been in an athmosphere quite like it. Everyone was wearing green and yellow, including me because clearly I’m quite a dedicated fan! The South African flag was painted across faces, arms and stomachs and the cheers were non stop.

The stadium is a monstrosity. I was so impressed, I’ll have to put up pictures soon….

I was 15 seats up from the field…. No big deal….oh and also did I forget to mention that they cost 30 Rand which is roughly 5 dollars. Terrible way to spend a Wednesday night huh?

Home is never that far away

Before arriving in South Africa I was overloaded with so much information I thought my brain was going to explode. Go visit so and so, get to know that family, make sure you have dinner at her house and let him take you out for drinks. I honestly remember very little of what was told to me, but one name sticks out in my mind. Susie from Vermont.

Apparently Susie and her husband Michael moved to South Africa two years ago and after running into the volunteers at the recycling center (see our weekend bottle returns after braais will pay off) became great friends.

Susie and her family welcomed me over to their home on Saturday. I thought my little adventure would be a brief stint; discussing all the things we had in common and our mutual love for Vermont. I wound up spending the afternoon, evening, night, morning and mid morning with the family and when I finally had to drag myself away I didn’t want to leave.

Susie and her husband Michael moved from outside Waterbury, Vermont to Mexico for two years and then found themselves in South Africa. Their children – Emma 14, Alex 12 and Sam 9 are the most precious, intelligent, well spoken, adorable children ever. I went from being an awkward visitor to part of the family in a matter of minutes.

Susie and I drank wine and laughed. We expressed frustrations and fancies of the South African culture and living so far away from home. She comforted me and I encouraged her. Emma and I talked about her debate team, school and her new boyfriend. Alex gave up her bed so I could sleep in it, asked for homework help and made muffins with me in the morning. Sam attacked me with a nerf gun and made me promise to have a joint birthday party with him.

I felt somewhat guilty leaving the community, but I think I needed it. I miss the sense of being a part of a family so much. I couldn’t have felt more at home so far away from home. They literally took me in and gave me everything; dinner, drinks, pjs, contact case, a bed to sleep in and the best pillows in the house, breakfast, friendship, companionship, an ear to vent to and a million hugs.

A gift can come in many shapes and sizes

A follow up to my marble story, one of my boys at St. Theresa’s proudly presented me with a gift yesterday. He made me close my eyes and when I opened them I was faced with his huge grin. I followed his eyes down to where his tiny hands were tying something around my wrist. He beamed when I told him the black braided bracelet he had fashioned out of plastic bags was one of the most creative gifts I have ever received. And in all honesty I’m in love with it.

Never bring watermelon to a braai...

Alas, after much hassle, a few phone calls and an in person visit to Telkom we have our internet back! Our water hasn’t been working for two days and I haven’t showered in three, but really who am I trying to impress? Being without internet for two weeks was both trying and revitalizing. All four of us had moments where we wanted to throw the computer over the cliff into Embo, but we also were able to spend time reading, journaling and most importantly time together as a community. It was frustrating not being able to talk to people, but I still managed to put up a few stories on my blog and let my mom know that I was alive (thanks to the kindness of the priests next door). And I think all in all I realized that although irritating, life without the internet is possible (gasp!)

Since I last wrote many things have happened. I’m going to do my best to recount…

A few weeks ago was Sinead’s 23rd birthday, an appropriate time to host our first braai. What you must first understand is that there is underlying braai etiquette which upon arrival to South Africa we were unaware of. Think of a hot summer day, maybe you’re on the lawn at North Beach, in the quad of the apartments or in the backyard at Karen’s. The guests are beginning to arrive, the appetizers are set out, multitudes of various salads and watermelon are refrigerating, the meat is cooking and the cards and beer pong table are being set up. Right? WRONG! Spin the aforementioned 180 degrees and you will have yourself a braai.

First, the word braai is not only bizarre to spell, but I feel like I am using an incomplete word whenever I say it in a sentence. “Hey, wanna come to our braaiiiii… on Saturday?”

The word originated from Afrikaans and has been adopted by South Africans with a bit of resistance from United States volunteers. I can’t quite determine if it is a noun “get the braai (grill) so we can cook the meat” or a verb “we are going to braai (cook) it” As far as I can tell it is used interchangeably.

Comparable to a potluck everyone brings their own food, especially meat which was shocking to the four of us. The host rarely provides more than the location and perhaps a side salad. Everyone cooks their own food and eats separately.

Which is where we differed as hosts.

Our braai was an extravaganza, complete with numerous appetizers, various meats and salads and of courses desserts. All homemade, ah thank you!
Course one
-Cheese dip and crackers
-Salsa with baked chips
-Bruschetta with mozzarella
-Watermellon (which shockingly enough is never appropriate to bring to a braai)

Course two
-Shrimp, onion and haloumi kabobs
-Hamburgers
-Steak

Course three
-Apple pie
-Brownies
-Chocolate cake

Course four
-1000 games of flip cup
-Gin bucket
-Wine
-Amarula
-Vodka
-Apple sour

Our braai which actually turned into more of an American BBQ was a huge success. 20 of our new friends joined in the fun and games and even Fr. Bob from the Bronx made a guest appearance.

We set up right by our pool and the balcony overlooking the sunset and the valley. In true volunteer form I used our resources and covered our lawn chairs and tables with cut curtains fashioned to evoke elegance and class. As the night grew darker white Christmas lights were used to adorn the nearby trees and cactus’ while music of all varieties encouraged dancing.

Being the kind hearted women we are, we kindly taught beer pong, up the river down the river a**hole and of course flip cup to our poor deprived South African friends. In true American fashion ladies ran the table. And to our surprise everyone was shocked that we drank beer; apparently here only males do….tragic I know.

So I don’t want to brag, but I’m going to go ahead and put it out there that I am a connoisseur of fun and luckily my three roommates are as well! The party didn’t stop till four in the morning and my cell phone was blowing up with messages praising our braai hosting abilities for the majority of the next week. Most messages sounded something like “that was the most amazing night of my life!!!” More than once someone has told us that they would provide all the money needed if we would host again. I’m sure it will be an amusing next 10 months… only draw back is that the recycling center does not pay you that glorious 5 cents a can upon returning them.