Yesterday was my first day with the students. I have a tough enough time remembering English names; strange-sounding siSwati names like Mduduzi, Mxolisi, and Nokuzola don’t make it any easier. They even have a funny clicking sound in their language that I don’t have the faintest idea how to emulate.
I found out quickly that I am a terrible physics and maths teacher. I’d forgotten how difficult these subjects were in grade 12. I wasn’t much help to the students and it was embarrassing. Fortunately I was able to help a lot more with the geography. It was still a humbling experience and awoke me to the realization of how much work running this program is going to be. To be honest, I’m really looking forward to Kristal’s arrival late in May. I’ve heard that she is a trained math teacher, and based on the sheer amount of work involved with the Forward Education Program, I know already that it will have to be a nice two-person effort.
They’ve purposely waited to formally incorporate me into the Forward Program so that I have a chance to learn first-hand about the broader work of the organization. Central to the Hands at Work care network is the Masoyi Home-Based Care Program. There are about fifteen branches to the program as a whole, including Orphans and Vulnerable Children (OVC), Young Moms, Better Choices, youth programs, food programs, and afterschool education assistance, among others.
The major focus, however, is on the home visits made by the care workers of Masoyi Home-Based Care. The program is completely run by community members and all of the care workers are locals as well. Hands at Work helped to set up the program and provides ongoing support, but the goal is to empower local members of the community to run all of the day-to-day operations.
Patients are referred to us by clinics, family, friends, neighbours, or simply by word of mouth. Today I'll be sent out with some of the care workers to get a first-hand sense of the work that they do on day-in and day-out basis. To be perfectly honest, I don't really know what to expect. Maybe having no preconceptions is a good thing.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Meeting the students
My students' level of dedication is impressive. Contrasted with the attitude of the average Canadian student, it is all the more striking—they want to be here and they want to succeed. They recognize what most of us as students in Canada do not, that education is a blessing and should not be taken for granted. They are well-disciplined, hard-working, and respectful. Yet for all of them, English is their second language, or 'first additional language' as it's called in the South African education system.
Their native language is siSwati. Learning in English is a constant struggle for them and unfortunately it's an uphill swim. The South African education system is certainly not geared towards empowerment: The solution for the poorer performance of impoverished black South Africans has been to constantly lower the passing grade (it now stands at 30%). This, I gather, is easier than improving the quality of teaching which might actually provide students with the means to succeed.
The goal of the Forward Education Program is to improve the student’s education and teach them the skills needed to succeed and gain entry to universities or other institutions of higher learning. This will empower the students, rather than simply push them through the system, and enable them to return to their communities as stronger and better-equipped leaders.
Strengthening a community from within is really the only way to build it up in the long run. By investing in these youth we hope to see a lasting improvement in their lives, the lives of their families, and the community as a whole. It is by small but crucial steps that this can be accomplished. As I would learn later in the week, the Forward Education Program is only one small component of the comprehensive development network known as Masoyi Home-Based Care.
Later that day I went for a drive for the first time out here. This was an interesting experience. Not only do people drive on the left-hand side of the road, but drivers are actually maniacal for the most part. Passing others at astonishingly high speeds on hills or blind corners is commonplace, if not outright expected. One has to drive on the extreme left part of the road, often on the shoulder in fact, in order to avoid being hit by passing automobiles.
Many people don’t possess drivers’ licenses. Most don’t know how to drive. Taxis are the worst—small minibuses, loaded with people, traveling at inappropriately high speeds. The day before I arrived, a taxi rear-ended one of our Kombis (a VW Microbus) being driven by two of my housemates and carrying all of my Forward students. It spun around, flipped over, and landed on the roof in the opposite lane facing backwards. God must have been with them, because not one of them was injured. It was still a traumatic experience.
Their native language is siSwati. Learning in English is a constant struggle for them and unfortunately it's an uphill swim. The South African education system is certainly not geared towards empowerment: The solution for the poorer performance of impoverished black South Africans has been to constantly lower the passing grade (it now stands at 30%). This, I gather, is easier than improving the quality of teaching which might actually provide students with the means to succeed.
The goal of the Forward Education Program is to improve the student’s education and teach them the skills needed to succeed and gain entry to universities or other institutions of higher learning. This will empower the students, rather than simply push them through the system, and enable them to return to their communities as stronger and better-equipped leaders.
Strengthening a community from within is really the only way to build it up in the long run. By investing in these youth we hope to see a lasting improvement in their lives, the lives of their families, and the community as a whole. It is by small but crucial steps that this can be accomplished. As I would learn later in the week, the Forward Education Program is only one small component of the comprehensive development network known as Masoyi Home-Based Care.
Later that day I went for a drive for the first time out here. This was an interesting experience. Not only do people drive on the left-hand side of the road, but drivers are actually maniacal for the most part. Passing others at astonishingly high speeds on hills or blind corners is commonplace, if not outright expected. One has to drive on the extreme left part of the road, often on the shoulder in fact, in order to avoid being hit by passing automobiles.
Many people don’t possess drivers’ licenses. Most don’t know how to drive. Taxis are the worst—small minibuses, loaded with people, traveling at inappropriately high speeds. The day before I arrived, a taxi rear-ended one of our Kombis (a VW Microbus) being driven by two of my housemates and carrying all of my Forward students. It spun around, flipped over, and landed on the roof in the opposite lane facing backwards. God must have been with them, because not one of them was injured. It was still a traumatic experience.
On your mark, get set, go
My orientation officially began this week and I've actually been spending most of my days within the community itself. This was a new experience. As I gained my bearings last week and began to adjust to this new place, I was gradually immersed into the everyday routine of the organization.
By Monday things began slowly swinging into gear. Actually, it was Friday night when I really began to feel like I was in South Africa. I had mostly recovered from the jet-lag by then and as a team we went into town to spend the evening at the Barnyard, a small concert venue that doubles as an outdoor restaurant/bar on weekends.
Amid small fires and tables of people we enjoyed all-you-can-eat ribs and a couple of well-priced beers. The dinner was 70 Rand (less than $10). At R10 a pop the beer was also extremely good value. I’ve found that food prices at restaurants and grocery stores alike are generally about half of what we pay in Canada—the exchange rate is very favourable. Later on I found myself sitting at the bar with my Afrikaans housemate, drinking Castle lager with a cricket match on the overhead television. It was a very South African moment.
On Monday I met with the professional English teacher who was hired to instruct the students while Dan, the current Forward Education coordinator, was on vacation in Zambia. I noticed right away that Anne is an extremely dedicated and competent instructor, with a genuine care and passion for the students. I found out later that she was orphaned herself as a teenager, which partly explains why she was able to connect so well with the students.
Needless to say, she had plenty of good advice for me as I move into a teaching role in the coming weeks. I met the students as well that day. There are seven students in the Bridging Program, all orphans who were selected based on leadership potential and their dedication to community involvement. It is remarkable to think that many of these students are actually the heads of their households—some even have younger siblings in their care in addition to their studies and community work. It's inspiring.
By Monday things began slowly swinging into gear. Actually, it was Friday night when I really began to feel like I was in South Africa. I had mostly recovered from the jet-lag by then and as a team we went into town to spend the evening at the Barnyard, a small concert venue that doubles as an outdoor restaurant/bar on weekends.
Amid small fires and tables of people we enjoyed all-you-can-eat ribs and a couple of well-priced beers. The dinner was 70 Rand (less than $10). At R10 a pop the beer was also extremely good value. I’ve found that food prices at restaurants and grocery stores alike are generally about half of what we pay in Canada—the exchange rate is very favourable. Later on I found myself sitting at the bar with my Afrikaans housemate, drinking Castle lager with a cricket match on the overhead television. It was a very South African moment.
On Monday I met with the professional English teacher who was hired to instruct the students while Dan, the current Forward Education coordinator, was on vacation in Zambia. I noticed right away that Anne is an extremely dedicated and competent instructor, with a genuine care and passion for the students. I found out later that she was orphaned herself as a teenager, which partly explains why she was able to connect so well with the students.
Needless to say, she had plenty of good advice for me as I move into a teaching role in the coming weeks. I met the students as well that day. There are seven students in the Bridging Program, all orphans who were selected based on leadership potential and their dedication to community involvement. It is remarkable to think that many of these students are actually the heads of their households—some even have younger siblings in their care in addition to their studies and community work. It's inspiring.
Getting my head straight
Every day or two the power goes out for a few hours. I’ve heard that demand for energy exceeds supply in South Africa by about ten percent on average. It’s not the end of the world. While my housemates think I’m crazy, I kind of like it when this happens. It’s quite peaceful actually, and it’s not like we really need it anyway; our appliances and water heaters are all gas-powered, and we have plenty of candles throughout the house. This is Africa.
Perhaps it’s because they’ve been here long enough already to forget the madness of everyday North American life. I don’t mind not having satellite television and a connection to the internet 24/7. I sleep better. While such things are nice, I personally find it too easy to kill hours upon hours with the various forms of media and entertainment that we can saturate ourselves with. It gives me a headache and fills my mind with useless things. Do you know how nice it is to go a day or two without experiencing a single commercial of some sort? It’s something like peace and bliss added together and multiplied...
While I am bored from time to time, I quite enjoy having the time to think for once. It actually took me three days (I counted) before I felt my mind clear and I was able to get my head straight again. Between the stresses of work or school, and the busyness and distractions of life, it’s hard to make time for ourselves, much less for others. Throw in the internet, email, television, news, sports, politics, celebrities, commercials, tv ads, radio ads, internet ads, print ads, flyers, billboards, credit, coffee, movies, music, shopping, drinking, driving (not together, per se), spending, thinking about spending, planning on spending, and starting all over again with work, is it any wonder some of us have trouble keeping our heads straight?
What a wonderful existence modern life is! God knows I felt like I was slowly losing my mind, or my life, or both at the same time. No stress over here, short of what I’m going to cook for breakfast in the morning and the occasional mosquito in my ear at night. Nevertheless, no point crying over spilt milk. I have home visits tomorrow. And crickets to fall asleep to. Cheers.
Perhaps it’s because they’ve been here long enough already to forget the madness of everyday North American life. I don’t mind not having satellite television and a connection to the internet 24/7. I sleep better. While such things are nice, I personally find it too easy to kill hours upon hours with the various forms of media and entertainment that we can saturate ourselves with. It gives me a headache and fills my mind with useless things. Do you know how nice it is to go a day or two without experiencing a single commercial of some sort? It’s something like peace and bliss added together and multiplied...
While I am bored from time to time, I quite enjoy having the time to think for once. It actually took me three days (I counted) before I felt my mind clear and I was able to get my head straight again. Between the stresses of work or school, and the busyness and distractions of life, it’s hard to make time for ourselves, much less for others. Throw in the internet, email, television, news, sports, politics, celebrities, commercials, tv ads, radio ads, internet ads, print ads, flyers, billboards, credit, coffee, movies, music, shopping, drinking, driving (not together, per se), spending, thinking about spending, planning on spending, and starting all over again with work, is it any wonder some of us have trouble keeping our heads straight?
What a wonderful existence modern life is! God knows I felt like I was slowly losing my mind, or my life, or both at the same time. No stress over here, short of what I’m going to cook for breakfast in the morning and the occasional mosquito in my ear at night. Nevertheless, no point crying over spilt milk. I have home visits tomorrow. And crickets to fall asleep to. Cheers.
A country of contrasts
I finally figured out why Masoyi, the town I am living by, is not on the map. Across the valley, the outskirts of which are visible from my room window, two hundred and fifty thousand people live scattered across the hills. Here is where the contrast in this country is greatest. Not fifteen minutes away is the town of White River, which is on the map.
As we pulled onto the highway last Sunday three red Ferraris blew past us. Helicopters and ultralites land in the field outside of the restaurant where our small church is hosted. That afternoon, after church, I was invited to a fine lunch at the residence of the parents of one of my housemates.
The sprawling gated community, or 'estate' as it is called here, is beautiful, green, and meticulously kept. We enjoyed lunch outdoors, on a veranda which opens up right next to the golf course. This is the other South Africa. And if you don’t make the effort, this is the only South Africa the average visitor will experience.
I can understand why the plight of those in poverty doesn’t affect us in North America or Western Europe—we just don’t see it at home. Here in South Africa though, it really is next door. I suppose the same principle applies when it really comes down to it: If you don’t see it, it doesn’t matter. Nevertheless, the way that extreme wealth and extreme poverty can exist side by side is somewhat of a mystery to me.
It’s not just here of course, there are many countries where the wealth divide is stupendous. And in North America we're actually pretty much all rich . I don’t know what the solution is—it’s human nature, I suppose, to want nice things for ourselves, regardless of whether or not others can have them (or eat breakfast for that matter). I’m no different, really. When it comes down to it, I like my Ipod and nice bottle of red wine.
It sounds like buckets of water are pouring down outside my window right now. I tried to warn Callan that his clothes were still hanging outside, but he didn’t bother. Fortunately it usually only rains at night, but the sheer volume that falls briefly every couple of days here is astonishing. Picture all of the rain that falls on a typical day in Vancouver but compress it into a ten or fifteen minute window and add some deafening thunderclaps.
It’s beautiful in the morning though, cool and with a slightly sweet smell in the air that is unique to Africa. There’s bright sunshine in the morning almost without fail, and waking up to the birds is a daily pleasure not to be missed. Life can be pretty wonderful.
As we pulled onto the highway last Sunday three red Ferraris blew past us. Helicopters and ultralites land in the field outside of the restaurant where our small church is hosted. That afternoon, after church, I was invited to a fine lunch at the residence of the parents of one of my housemates.
The sprawling gated community, or 'estate' as it is called here, is beautiful, green, and meticulously kept. We enjoyed lunch outdoors, on a veranda which opens up right next to the golf course. This is the other South Africa. And if you don’t make the effort, this is the only South Africa the average visitor will experience.
I can understand why the plight of those in poverty doesn’t affect us in North America or Western Europe—we just don’t see it at home. Here in South Africa though, it really is next door. I suppose the same principle applies when it really comes down to it: If you don’t see it, it doesn’t matter. Nevertheless, the way that extreme wealth and extreme poverty can exist side by side is somewhat of a mystery to me.
It’s not just here of course, there are many countries where the wealth divide is stupendous. And in North America we're actually pretty much all rich . I don’t know what the solution is—it’s human nature, I suppose, to want nice things for ourselves, regardless of whether or not others can have them (or eat breakfast for that matter). I’m no different, really. When it comes down to it, I like my Ipod and nice bottle of red wine.
It sounds like buckets of water are pouring down outside my window right now. I tried to warn Callan that his clothes were still hanging outside, but he didn’t bother. Fortunately it usually only rains at night, but the sheer volume that falls briefly every couple of days here is astonishing. Picture all of the rain that falls on a typical day in Vancouver but compress it into a ten or fifteen minute window and add some deafening thunderclaps.
It’s beautiful in the morning though, cool and with a slightly sweet smell in the air that is unique to Africa. There’s bright sunshine in the morning almost without fail, and waking up to the birds is a daily pleasure not to be missed. Life can be pretty wonderful.
New house, new life
After a four-and-a-half hour bus ride I arrived exhausted at the campus of the Africa School of Missions. The campus is split between ASM and Hands at Work in Africa, the organization I now work for. George and Carolyn, the founders of Hands at Work, were originally students at ASM in the mid-nineties.
The fact that I had come down with a slight bug sometime during the madness of my last two days in Canada didn’t help my adjustment to the new environment. My new place of residence, 'Westmont Cottage' as they call it, is little more than a small house in the back corner of the campus, shared by six of us. To say that it’s 'not fancy' by my usual standards is a bit of an understatement. I think there are prisons in Canada that have nicer rooms than mine. It's a bit of a change.
To be honest, I had no preconceptions anyway, and I was surprised that the adjustment was even the slight bit difficult. When I left I didn’t expect to have any problems adjusting. I remember being a little depressed my second day in, wondering to myself what the hell I was doing here for the better part of a year... Nevertheless, I think a lot of it had to do with the exhaustion and physical illness, not to mention the fact that I just uprooted myself from everything I know almost overnight. A six hour nap that afternoon fixed things up a bit.
I actually can’t complain at all. I have great housemates, running water (both cold and hot), all the household appliances I need (including a washer), and electricity most of the time. True, half the cupboards don’t work properly, and we don’t have a complete set of plates and glasses, but it’s not like I’m bushing it—the glass of cabernet sauvignon next to me bears witness to that. The wine here is smashing actually.
Can you believe it didn’t even register that we don’t have a dishwasher until this moment? Like I said, things aren't too bad... The cooking schedule means I only have to prepare dinner once a week, if that. In all honesty, I like the arrangement quite a bit. The campus grounds are gorgeous, and once you sit back and accept that things in the house don’t have to look perfect, there’s actually a tremendous sense of freedom.
I’ll admit that the curtain situation needs fixing—the gray blanket taped to my window isn’t cutting it. But it feels nice not to have to worry about the little, usually meaningless, things all the time. In Langley I couldn’t even have a dinner party because my mother was troubled by the ongoing renovations. We’ve had guests here for dinner three nights in a row. There are upsides to the situation.
The fact that I had come down with a slight bug sometime during the madness of my last two days in Canada didn’t help my adjustment to the new environment. My new place of residence, 'Westmont Cottage' as they call it, is little more than a small house in the back corner of the campus, shared by six of us. To say that it’s 'not fancy' by my usual standards is a bit of an understatement. I think there are prisons in Canada that have nicer rooms than mine. It's a bit of a change.
To be honest, I had no preconceptions anyway, and I was surprised that the adjustment was even the slight bit difficult. When I left I didn’t expect to have any problems adjusting. I remember being a little depressed my second day in, wondering to myself what the hell I was doing here for the better part of a year... Nevertheless, I think a lot of it had to do with the exhaustion and physical illness, not to mention the fact that I just uprooted myself from everything I know almost overnight. A six hour nap that afternoon fixed things up a bit.
I actually can’t complain at all. I have great housemates, running water (both cold and hot), all the household appliances I need (including a washer), and electricity most of the time. True, half the cupboards don’t work properly, and we don’t have a complete set of plates and glasses, but it’s not like I’m bushing it—the glass of cabernet sauvignon next to me bears witness to that. The wine here is smashing actually.
Can you believe it didn’t even register that we don’t have a dishwasher until this moment? Like I said, things aren't too bad... The cooking schedule means I only have to prepare dinner once a week, if that. In all honesty, I like the arrangement quite a bit. The campus grounds are gorgeous, and once you sit back and accept that things in the house don’t have to look perfect, there’s actually a tremendous sense of freedom.
I’ll admit that the curtain situation needs fixing—the gray blanket taped to my window isn’t cutting it. But it feels nice not to have to worry about the little, usually meaningless, things all the time. In Langley I couldn’t even have a dinner party because my mother was troubled by the ongoing renovations. We’ve had guests here for dinner three nights in a row. There are upsides to the situation.
New in this country
South Africa is a country of contrasts. When I stepped off the plane in Johannesburg I didn’t really know what to expect of this new country. After nearly thirty hours of uninterrupted travel, I didn’t much care about anything, to be honest, although I vaguely remember that the thought of bed was incredibly appealing.
The jet ride from Amsterdam was terribly unpleasant: long, uncomfortable, and extremely lacking in entertainment unless you count the seventeen-month-old girl to my left. I don’t sleep well on planes, anyway, and even the slight use of rye whiskey and wine (on the advice of the South African to my right) afforded me less than a couple hours of sleep and only resulted in the customary stiff neck.
Since it was dark when I landed I got no real sense of what Jo’burg was like that night. Fortunately the guesthouse was close and I arrived in short time at a very colonial-looking structure about twenty minutes from OR Tambo International Airport. It all seemed very prim, and indeed my large bed and bathtub were complimented by a fancy-looking bottle that turned out to contain a somewhat pleasant orange brandy. I gathered by the shot glasses that nightcaps are customary here.
The wake-up call seemed to come inappropriately early. I was served a rather proper breakfast that morning, almost uncomfortably proper. I felt a bit out of place, really, in an environment that felt eerily reminiscent of a strong colonial past, replete with at least six to eight black housemaids, cooks, and groundskeepers. As I found out later, almost all of the service industry is vastly and disproportionately staffed with black South Africans.
I suppose in a country with double-digit unemployment this shouldn’t be entirely surprising. The wealth divide in this country is astonishing, although you don’t always see it. Indeed, it didn't really fully sink in until I arrived at my new home in Mpumalanga province, northeast of Johannesburg.
The jet ride from Amsterdam was terribly unpleasant: long, uncomfortable, and extremely lacking in entertainment unless you count the seventeen-month-old girl to my left. I don’t sleep well on planes, anyway, and even the slight use of rye whiskey and wine (on the advice of the South African to my right) afforded me less than a couple hours of sleep and only resulted in the customary stiff neck.
Since it was dark when I landed I got no real sense of what Jo’burg was like that night. Fortunately the guesthouse was close and I arrived in short time at a very colonial-looking structure about twenty minutes from OR Tambo International Airport. It all seemed very prim, and indeed my large bed and bathtub were complimented by a fancy-looking bottle that turned out to contain a somewhat pleasant orange brandy. I gathered by the shot glasses that nightcaps are customary here.
The wake-up call seemed to come inappropriately early. I was served a rather proper breakfast that morning, almost uncomfortably proper. I felt a bit out of place, really, in an environment that felt eerily reminiscent of a strong colonial past, replete with at least six to eight black housemaids, cooks, and groundskeepers. As I found out later, almost all of the service industry is vastly and disproportionately staffed with black South Africans.
I suppose in a country with double-digit unemployment this shouldn’t be entirely surprising. The wealth divide in this country is astonishing, although you don’t always see it. Indeed, it didn't really fully sink in until I arrived at my new home in Mpumalanga province, northeast of Johannesburg.
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