Precious Moments

This was one of those weeks that I wish someone was following me around with a camera to capture the small but incredible (and often ridiculous) moments that really make me realize how happy and fortunate I am to be here. This week was full of them.
To start, Monday night I was sitting in my room reading when I get a knock on my door. I called out “Ngobani? (Who is it?), and my host mom answers so I know that it’s okay to open. What I didn’t know was that when I opened the door, a Sangoma would bust in with a tray full of burning coals and who knows what else, circle around my room, and then leave without saying one word (meanwhile my host mom is giggling in the backround because she can tell how weirded-out I am). A Sangoma is a traditional healer, that lives in the community and acts as the village doctor. Many people don’t believe in the powers of a Sangoma anymore, and instead opt to go to the clinic, doctor, or hospital instead. However some people do and only visit the Sangoma when they have ailments (some Sangomas even claim that they can cure HIV/Aids). Now I obviously can’t speak to the healing powers of a Sangoma, but I do know that they offer a sense of peace to those who fear the unknown. I know that my host family recognizes the need for a proper doctor for serious medical problems, but I didn’t know the extent of their other beliefs. I found out the next day that the Sangoma had come and did some type of ritual around the house to protect them from witches. Many people here believe that people will put curses on others whom they don’t like or who have wronged them, and that a Sangoma’s blessing can protect them from this. For example, my coworker won’t tell anyone how many months pregnant she is because she fears that if someone finds out her due date, they will curse her baby during its birth. According to my brother, this particular blessing was to protect them from those people who will curse you to become disabled. Quite an experience to be a part of.
I also wish someone was around to record my reaction when I receive a package. Given the slightly shady and extremely ineffective post delivery system here, whenever I’m in town I go in to the post office with a piece of paper that has both of my names written on it and ask them to go and search to see if there is anything there for me. More often than not, a package has been there for a few weeks, but oops they forgot to put the notification in my mailbox. But the wait is worth seeing them come out of the package room with something in their hands for me. They must think I’m crazy, usually I jump up and down or clap my hands or do something ridiculous. This week I received two packages from September and November…completely ridiculous. Their explanation? The post office closes for all of December. Oh, okay then.
Throughout the week, other special moments have come in a different form. One evening I was cooking pesto pasta (delicious) and my baby brother Mxolisa (who is now 1.5 years old and not a baby anymore) comes in and starts dancing to my music. I begin to dance with him, and then he starts copying every move I made, from twisting to the ground to waving my arms back and forth (sadly I couldn’t get him to raise the roof). That was a particularly poignant moment in which I fully realized, I will be leaving here one day. I made a commitment to myself to try and make the most of each day, of each experience, of each dance party. It could be that now that there is less time before I complete my service and go home, than time that I have been here, that I’m starting to think more and more about the fact that at this time next year, this will not be my life anymore. And that is truly a weird thought. But in a way, it has transformed my attitude. I’ve recognized in myself this week, less of an anger at the things I don’t like about being here (long and crowded taxi rides, for example), and more of an appreciation of what a crazy experience I am having, that unless I do Peace Corps again, I will most likely never have again in my life.

Fortunately, I do bring my camera along to record some of the moments that I know will be special, including the work I did with my girls club to celebrate International Women’s Day, which was Tuesday March 8. I had a lot of fun discussing with them the significance of the day, certain successful women and the qualities that they have, and how we can be like them and achieve our dreams. We then wrote “I am proud to be a woman” on the top of a piece of paper, and cut out magazine pictures and words that they believed depicted the true meaning of being a woman. It was exciting to see them chose words and phrases like, “strong, independent, and everyone deserves to be safe”.
We had a Gogo group meeting in which they handed in their first bead project (beaded AIDS ribbons with the South African flag), and we will now begin the process of selling to bring them some much needed personal income. It is great to see the attitude of the group grow from subtle skepticism of ‘what is this group all about?’ to now have all of the Gogos participate in exercises and health talks, and most especially the essence of the group, the support discussion.
I rounded out the weekend hanging out with family, friends, and neighbors who are all very special to me. A cohort of kids came over and we baked a chocolate cake and watched Shrek. I taught a yoga class of 25 girls! I taught some easy English words to my young siblings. I taught some of the girls from the club how to make salsa, and explained that in America we eat it everyday (I’m aware that this is not even remotely close to being a true statement, but my nostalgia for Mexican food just overwhelmed me at the moment). Mostly I spent the week shifting my focus. I think that I have finally been able to let go of my need to “do” and “accomplish” and “create” things here, and really accept and appreciate what I can do here.
The week wouldn’t be complete if it didn’t end as crazily as it had started. I had to make a day trip to the city to purchase the final yoga mats. It has been ridiculously hot this week, and I was already not looking forward to what I knew would be a long and extremely crowded bus ride home. I showed up at the bus station with two bags full of ten yoga mats. The station was really crowded and loud, and I kept walking up to people asking them to direct me to where my bus was. However nobody could hear me, and so they assumed I was selling the yoga mats. My questions were answered with “Oh, okay, how much?” People took the mats out of my bag, trying to figure out how much they were, or why a nicely dressed white girl was at this shady bus station trying to sell expensive exercise mats. I finally found my bus, and a random gogo snuck me on with her so I could get a good seat (I know this sounds bad, but it’s truly every man for himself when it comes to public transportation). With five large butts in my face we finally departed the bus station, only to be the vehicle for an outbreak of a fight in the back of the bus. I have no idea what the fight was over (probably that someone stole someone else’s seat, or banana), but all I know is that I turned around to see a Gogo wailing on some young man. Everyone on the bus is screaming and yelling and trying to break it up, it was absolute craziness. The driver then detoured to the police station, where three police women came on board, and dragged the Gogo to the front of the bus by her ear, and chastised her in front of everyone.
TIA?