Summer Snapshots

This past Thursday, June 16th was Youth Day, a South African national holiday in honor of the youth who died during anti apartied protests in Soweto in 1976. Our host family had the day off from school and work, and we were pleasantly surprised to wake up to breakfast for everyone.


On Youth Day, the whole family and some of our host family's friends from Manguzi went to Black Rock beach, a beautiful secluded beach about an hour from Manguzi down bumpy dirt roads.

Last weekend we met up with the rest of our group of Robtertson Scholars in Saint Lucia. This is a picture of all of us on a boat ride in the estuaries, where we saw lots of hippos. It was fantastic to be able to spend time together, reflect on our experiences at work and in homestays thus far, and refocus for our last two weeks of work.

A special thanks to Elizabeth for always taking group pictures, bringing her camera, and sharing images with me!

Lessons From Life and Work in Manguzi

June 6th and 12th, 2011

“Ikanda, amahlombe, isifuba, ukhalo, andolo, zinzwani, andolo, zinzwani.” The children sang together, happily pointing to the appropriate body parts. We were singing the Zulu version of head, shoulders, knees, and toes, which when literally translated is actually head, shoulders, chest, hips, knees, feet. I could now pronounce the words appropriately and had six new words to add to my gradually increasing Zulu vocabulary.

It was a sunny Monday afternoon and Kooli, one of the translators, and I were singing in a circle with a smiling group of pediatric patients. This stimulation or as we usually called it “stim group” took place most weekday afternoons. The group was designed to engage patients physically and intellectually, to practice fine and gross motor skills. My favorite part of the group, however, is that it allows the children not to be patients in a hospital. Instead, they get to be outside, spending time with other children, learning, being active, and having fun.

One of the challenging aspects of our work at the hospital is that we don’t have a specific assignment, department, or supervisor. We are here to learn and part of that learning is figuring out how we want to allocate our time and make meaning out of our experience here. This is a challenge for American college students. We are used to feeling useful, to having specific tasks and achieving them. At the hospital, we are foreign students who are unable to speak Zulu, have minimal medical training, and very limited (if any) professional skills applicable to this setting. Unlike last summer, this is not a summer of service. Although we very much want to help, there is very little we are qualified to do. Instead we are here to learn.

I think there is often a perception amongst American college students that if we go abroad, we will walk into a new situation and finds lots to do, many places where we can be helpful during our short international stay. We are coming into communities facing such daunting and overwhelming international challenges like HIV/AIDS, TB, poverty, rural isolation, lack of infrastructure, and limited education. Surely, we are needed somewhere, right?

Sometimes international volunteers are needed, and sometimes they are not. In our case, the hospital is not in dire need of the limited help we are qualified to offer. But Lauren, Elizabeth, and I have talked about how really that is a good thing. After all, how would we feel if the situation were different, we were really needed, and then we had to leave after 5 weeks, reopening a gap that we had briefly filed?

.Manguzi Hospital faces many challenges, particularly limited resources, but it is well organized with a dedicated staff. On our first day at work, I told one of the doctors that one of my goals for the summer was to get a sense for how rural hospitals like Manguzi work. The doctor smiled and chuckled at me, “Things are crazy around here, but things kind of just work. Somehow the hospital keeps functioning.”

During my time in Manguzi, I have been lucky to see many of the different ways the hospital works. Each morning, we attend the doctors’ meeting where doctors are brief on newly admitted patients and general hospital updates from the medical manager, matrons (senior nurses), and department heads. Several times a week different doctors will give professional development lectures on topics like diabetic emergencies or the co-infection of HIV and hepatitis B. After the morning meeting, doctors head off to do rounds in their assigned wards. I have shadowed doctors in the maternity, pediatrics, and female wards. I have also observed the nutritionist, shadowed doctors in the Out Patient Department (OPD), and watched surgeries.

But I have been spending most of my time in the Allied Therapy wing, which houses speech therapy, physio therapy (physical therapy), and occupational therapy. The speech and occupational therapists work with lots of children with special needs, intellectual impairment, disabilities, and developmental delays. It has been fascinating to learn about signs of physical and cognitive delays, strategies to overcome disabilities, etc. It can also be heart breaking at times. Many of the children’s families cannot afford to take their children to regular therapy or to provide resources to help them overcome their disabilities. Therapists here in Manguzi need to be creative and resourceful to overcome both systemic and individual challenges faced by the patients and health professionals throughout the local community.

I am learning by being here, observing, asking questions, talking with people, and making comparisons. I am very grateful to be here! The opportunities and experiences I am having here are incredible and unparalleled. I am trying to be a sponge and to really soak up this experience. This is an experience that is not only valuable now, but it will gain meaning as I reflect on it and process it in the future. I am sharpening a new lens with which to view challenges of health, poverty, disease, wealth disparities, race relations, language, cultural identities, and much more.

I am proud of the way I have adapted to be able to cope with adversity and situations beyond my control. At work I have had to balance a desire to learn with an understanding of where I fit in at the hospital. I have learned about personal relationships through managing work relationships at the hospital, relationships with our host family and community members, and my relationships with other Robertsons, my family, and people at home. I am learning to communicate in many different ways, notably when I do not speak Zulu and when I am a continent away from many of the people who are most important to me. I am learning about human connections and respect through the generosity and hospitality of my host family and new friends in Manguzi. I am learning about the unique mixture of cultures in South Africa and the ways that these cultures fit together (or sometimes don’t) to form the South African national identity. I am learning about the legacy of a brutally difficult past, something I was able to see domestically last summer in the Mississippi Delta. I am learning to live abroad, so far away (in so many ways) from the life I know.

Fire, Fish, Football, and Friends

Friday, June 3, 2011

Crack! I raised the axe to the height of my chest swinging it into the wood. My host brother, Phila, and his cousin, Skhylile, laughed at me. I looked up at them, smiling.

“I know you’re laughing. I’ve never done this before.”

Apparently that was obvious because they kept giggling. My eleven year old host sister Fanele had made the task seem quiet doable. But something was off with my technique. My aim was also fairly spotty as I had slammed the axe into the ground several times instead of the wood. I didn’t blame the children for laughing. Here was the foreign white girl trying somewhat unsuccessfully to help with chores. It was almost as funny as when I tried to speak Zulu.

Skhylile came up to me and took the axe.

“Ok, you’re going to show me?”

He nodded. With surprising speed and strength for a nine year old, he raised the axe above his head and brought it down in a swift, forceful motion. The wood cracked satisfyingly, beginning to splinter. He prepared for another swing.

“Wow, he’s good,” I muttered. Lauren, who had stopped arranging the other pieces of firewood, agreed. In a trademark Lauren-ism she cried,

“Work, Skhylile! Work!” He kept chopping. Making continual progress until with a final crack, the piece of wood broke in two. We all cheered. Elizabeth gave Skhylile a high five as he smiled triumphantly.

It was Friday afternoon, and we were making a fire in the backyard, a special occasion as we were preparing to cook fish for dinner. Most nights since arriving in Manguzi, Lauren, Elizabeth, and I had cooked for ourselves, as that was the agreement SIT had arranged with our host family. However, last nigh we had prepared dinner for our host family as a token of our appreciation for their hospitality. We had originally hoped to make traditional Southern macaroni and cheese, a very American dish. But after finding out that a small block of cheese costs a whopping 55 rand (almost $10), we decided to change plans. We made barbeque chicken, boiled cabbage, and Cajun rice with tomatoes, onions, and peppers. We were pleased with how the meal turned out, and the whole family enjoyed it, especially the chicken, which is a special treat.

Our host Mama also decided to cook for everyone. Friday morning when we woke up, she was chopping a giant fish that had been chilling in the freezer at the end of the hall for about a week. When I say giant, I mean it. This fish, which had been caught in nearby Kosi Bay, was over four feet long with substantial meat, glistening scales, and glazed over eyes that looked up from the edge of the cutting board, where Mama had chopped off its head.

The fire we were preparing would be used to cook the fish, adding a delicious smoky flavor to the herbs, peppers, tomatoes, and onions it would been cooked with. With the firewood chopped, Fanele, her cousin Zodwa, and Lauren arranged the firewood and coals, setting the pile ablaze with a carefully ignited plastic shopping bag, an apparently common way to get fires burning strongly.

When their task of chopping firewood had been completed successfully, the boys had grabbed a soccer ball and began running around the yard, shooting on the garage as a make shift goal. Elizabeth and I decided to join them, eager to play. Skhylile looked at me somewhat skeptically, no doubt wondering if I was better at playing soccer (or rather football as it is called here) than chopping firewood.

Our pick up football (soccer) game was substantially different than most I had played. Not only were the children barefoot and running around in the dust of the backyard, but we also had to several new obstacles to be aware of: the fire crackling under a nearby tree and the heap of trash dumped in a ditch boarding our “field.” (The trash is explained and photographed in my 5/28/11 post, A Taste of the Unknown). Lauren was watching the game from the steps of the porch and warned us not to mess with her fire.

The game began, a classic match up of girls against boys. Zodwa was in the goal with Fanele, Elizabeth, and I in the field. We out numbered the boys, who had Mongezi playing keeper and Phila and Skhylile in the field. We needed the advantage, for the young boys were fast with quick feet, fakes, and other moves they had practiced endlessly. Phila was especially fun to watch, showing agility and natural athleticism that impressed us.

After some intense play, we paused the game. At Mama’s request, Fanele and Zodwa headed into town for a quick trip to pick up more tomatoes and peppers for dinner. Elizabeth joined them, but I stayed behind to squeeze more soccer in to the limited daylight hours we had left. Phila had disappeared, so it was just Skhylile and I. He looked up at me excitedly, struck by a new idea.

“Penalty! Penalty!” he shouted.

“Ok. We can shoot penalty kicks,” I replied. As I moved the ball back into place, I joked with him. “Are you ready for this, Skhylile?” He answered with out hesitation.

“Yes!”

However as he responded he looked up at me and decided that I had set up too close to the goal. He positioned his back foot in line with the plastic crate we were using for a goal post and began walking towards me with slow, deliberate steps.

“12 feet,” he said, as he moved towards me, measuring out the distance between the goal and the penalty line. I chuckled, noticing that each step was getting progressively larger, pushing my shot further away from the goal. Skhylile reached what he deemed the appropriate position, used his barefoot to make a line in the dirt, and scampered back towards the goal.

I prepared to shoot. Although it had been four years since I had really played soccer, I had had many years of practices several nights a week and weekends filled with soccer games, among other sporting events. My body remembered what to do. I kicked through the ball. My shot went directly at Skhylile, who happily blocked it.

“Ohh wow, I shot that directly at you,” I said, aware of how rusty I was. ‘Let’s try again.”

--- ---- ----

When the darkness had set in and the game was over, all of us gathered on the porch. Our host Mama’s favorite music flooded through the open door. The beat was catchy and uniquely South African.

“Work, Bandi, work,” Lauren cooed. “Dance for your life little man!”

Lauren happily swayed her hips, smiling broadly at Bandile as he bounced up and down. The little three year old was an adorable baby, our host mother’s nephew. He and Lauren were particularly fond of each other. When I had come home for lunch that day by myself, he had wandered about the house looking for her. Throughout the soccer game, he had sat on Lauren’s lap watching and cheering. At one point in the evening, the two of them had been counting stars in the indigo night sky and when he informed her: “Nasiyama isinguzi estibakabakeni,” which means that the stars were “mangoes in the sky.” Although they weren’t mangoes, the stars here are beautiful. In our rural town on the edge of South Africa, there is limited back light, so you can always see lots of stars, a refreshing change for those of us used to a limited view at home.

“I’ll be right back. I’m going to grab my camera.”

I ran inside to get it. Everyone was gathered on the porch, happily tired after the soccer game, a perfect photo opportunity.

“Everyone move closer and look at me.” They all turned, Fanele and Zodwa moved closer together… but Phila was moving away.

“Phila, stay in the picture.” Zodwa grabbed his hand to keep him from sneaking out of the photo. “Ok, smile everyone.”

As the flash went off, Bandile clapped his hands happily and yelled “Yayy!” During our two weeks in Manguzi, Bandi had heard Lauren, Elizabeth, and I excitedly say this when picking him up to give him a hug. Now it was his enthusiastic response to anything we did with him.

“I guess Bandi likes pictures.” People were starting to get up from their picture poses.
“Wait,” I called out, “Let’s take another one.”

After our photo shoot, we all gathered on the porch steps to look at the pictures. Bandile was especially thrilled to see everyone on my camera’s small screen.

“ Umgani “ he cried, pointing at the picture of us. “Namguyama umgani wami.”

Our host Mama translated. “He is saying, ‘There are my friends.’”

A Taste of the Unknown

A beautiful sunset over the back yard in Manguzi


Saturday, May 28, 2011

“Do you want to try some?”

In a show of good South African hospitality, my host Mama offered me the plate. It is a cardinal rule of homestays, international travel, and common courtesy that you say yes and graciously accept what you are offered. I smiled. “Yes, thank you for sharing.”

The plate she was holding towards me had a strange looking food that flopped over itself in folds, one side blackened from the open stove it had been cooked on in the house next door. I took a piece and with some effort bit a chunk off the corner. The food was completely unfamiliar to me with a rubbery texture and a somewhat unpleasant smell. My tongue recoiled from the taste. I took a big breath and swallowed the piece of food in my mouth preemptively before my gag reflex set in. An after taste like animal fat lingered in my mouth as I began cutting the remaining food in my hand into smaller pieces that were easier to swallow.

“This tastes like chitlins,” Lauren told our host Mama. “It’s hella good.” She eyed the plate. “Can I have another piece.”

Lauren happily took another piece as I struggled to swallow the small chunks I had chopped mine into. Elizabeth stood at the stove stirring our sautéing vegetables. Evidently she had turned down our host Mama’s offer – a smart move from her taste bud’s perspective, but she also knew the rules of courtesy. After all our first night in Manguzi she had her first pork meal ever because our host Mama had made it to welcome us. The former vegetarian was very wary of meat though, which was probably the cause of her refusal.

Only later that afternoon would I discover what I had eaten. “Why didn’t you eat that food Mama shared?” I asked Elizabeth. She made a squeamish face at me. “Mama came into the kitchen and asked if we eat the inside of cows, near the intestines.” Elizabeth put her hands over her own stomach to demonstrate. Although I half expected that at the time, especially when Lauren made the comparison to chitlins. I was glad I did not know at the time. Some information is best shared after the fact or left unknown.

An alternate view of the backyard. There is a garden where our host family and their neighbors grow some delicious vegetables. However, they also keep trash in the yard. This is the case with everyone here. I was surprised when during our bus ride here, people threw styrofoam food containers and other trash out the windows. The landscape is really beautiful, making the trash an unwanted addition.

Another surprise is that most people burn their trash. This practice is actually supported by the department of public health. Logistically, it is not feasible to collect and dispose of the trash, and standing trash can cause a major health threat in that it carries disease. So although I was surprised at first, it makes sense to burn trash.

¿Vocé fala português?

Sunday, May 29, 2011

¿Vocé fala português?
(You speak Portuguese?)

The tall black man looked at me inquisitively, somewhat dumbfounded that this sandy, t-shirt clad, blond haired girl sitting in the back of a rickety white truck had responded to him in Portuguese.

¿De ondé vocé é?
Eu sou dos estados unidos.
¿Mas, fala português?
Si, estou estudandou português na universidade com uma profesora brasiliera.
¡Que bom! Vocé fala como uma brasiliera. Aqui nos falamos mais como pessoas de Portugual.
(Where are you from?
I am from the US.
But, you speak Portuguese?
Yes, I am studying Portuguese at my university with a Brasilian professor.
Oh, good! You speak like a Brasilian. Here we speak more like people from Portugual.)

Ernesto, my new acquaintance laughed and smiled heartily. It was dusk and the sun was quickly disappearing behind the sparse trees and clumps of bushes. The open land around us was interupted by the dark tar of the loan road and several layers of barbed wire fence reaching about 12 feet high and cutting into the skyline. Between the layers of fence lay a brown wooden building with restrooms and a customs office. Uniformed men walked by with heavy boots. Some wore stearn faces to match their rifles, but others were more jovial, glad that it was nearly 5 o’clock and the end of their workday.

Our car was parked next to a small, rather delapitated wooden shack. It sat haphazardly 50 feet from the first fence, which marked the South African border with Mozambique. Our group, which consisted of our host Mama, her sister Ngoli, their uncle Lucky, two young men from Manguzi, Lauren, Elizabeth, and myself, were in and around the car, chatting with Mama and Ngoli’s friends from Mozambique, who had decided to spontaneously cross the border for the evening. The border crossing, which would have cost me about $450 rand (about $70 dollars) for a visa, is free for South African and Mozambiquen citizens, and both groups had evidently taken advantage of it. The friends spoke together enthusiastically in a mixture of English and Zulu, making plans for the rest of the evening.

The South African border with Mozambique

(Photo courtesy of Lauren)

Our host mama gathered the group’s attention.“Dinner is re-ady,” she announced, prompting our Mozambiquen friends to head towards their cars and our group to move in the direction of the small shack and appetizing smells. I got up slowley, ducking my head as I jumped out of the truck. The movement dislodged the sand that had lodged itself between my toes and in other parts of my body, remnants of our adventures in Kosi Bay.

I had been surprised earlier that morning when Mama informed us that we were spending the afternoon in Kosi Bay. Manguzi is quite close to the coast line, but I tend to forget that. Up until that point my knowledge of this rural city consisted mainly of our host family’s house, Manguzi hospital, the “Supatrade Spar” Grocery Store, the bustling market, and the winding dirt path ways connecting my points of reference. Driving north out of town, towards the coast, Elizabeth, Lauren, and I pointed excitedly to new sites that were new to us.

The beautiful view at an inlet in Kosi Bay

(Again, photo courtesy of Lauren)

“They have a Steers!” Elizabeth exclaimed. I turn to see the Steers tucked into the back of a gas station. Elizabeth is excited not about the fried chicken and South African fast food, but because they have vanilla frozen yogurt for 5 rand a cone (about 80 cents). Under Elizabeth’s disciplined tutelage, we have been trying to stick to a healthier diet here in Manguzi. Given the fact that we are grocery shopping and cooking for ourselves, this has been feasible while staying without our budget. Paired with our healthy diet, most days when getting home from work, Lauren, Elizabeth, and I do planks, sit-ups, squats, push-ups, dips, and other exercizes. We turn on ChanelO, our host family’s favorite TV channel which plays lots of American music videos, along with music from a variety of African countires. At some point, a Steers frozen yogurt would be a delicious treat and reward for our health conscious efforts. Driving out of Manguzi, we also noticed other interesting shops and decided next weekend, when we have some free time, we will need to explore the town more.

Today, however, was a chance to explore the natural beauty outside town...

(to be continued)