Telling my Peace Corps Story: Lens of Faith

As long as I can remember back, I've always been drawn to the desert. Growing up in Oklahoma, I had no experiences with deserts, but always gravitated to the Southwest part of the U.S. I loved turquoise and silver, chiles, mesas, giant, colorful skyscapes, brilliant sunrises and sunsets, learning about the indigenous tribes like Navajo and Pima, but mostly the idea of what the desert embodies: conservation, isolation, quiet, and solitude. Thomas Merton's The Wisdom of the Desert offers aphorisms from early monks living in the desert. Abbot Pastor said: A man must breathe humility and the fear of God just as ceaselessly as he inhales and exhales the air. Abbot Alonius said: Humility is the land where God wants us to go and offer sacrifice (pp116-17). I had to write an essay to tell the admittance board why I wanted to join the Peace Corps. At the time, I was fixated on the duality of wisdom and compassion, contrasted with knowledge and judgement. So, I said something like, as a judgmental person by nature, I wanted to develop compassion. But, in retrospect, what I was really seeking was humility.
There's something very humbling about leaving your home, your country, every social fabric you've weaved to help you become the person you are today, and start anew as a volunteer. It seemed exciting at the time; a real chance to dive into the sense of wanderlust I'd had since I was a teen. After becoming accepted to the program, I received my assignment. I told the recruiter I would accept any position from any country, so I had no idea where I would be stationed. I had been tasked as an information technology resource specialist in the schools and community resource project in the Northern Cape Province of South Africa, located in the Kalahari Desert. As vague as the job title sounds, it really meant I was assigned to work in two villages, each of which were small in size, and had one primary school apiece. I was to assist teachers, parents, out of school youth, especially in the area of life skills and HIV/AIDS education, in a variety of ways. In order to really help, though, I needed to first understand; who are these people? how do they fit into the bigger society? locally, regionally, and globally? How can I use my gifts and talents to serve them? How can I balance taking care of myself and serving others? Some of these answers were given during my 8 week training, and some of them have yet to be uncovered today, a decade later. One song I learned then, from our Setswana teachers, is called "Thula pele," pretty much means close your mouth and listen, foreshadowed the meditation stage I'm in now. Lots of listening, remaining a non-judging observer, exploring awareness, and teaching others, every Monday at public library formally, and informally by my way of life.
My village, where I lived for nearly two years, was called Logaganeng, "the place with the little cave," in Setswana. I wonder how long ago there was actually a cave, because nobody I asked had any idea. It was as flat as the Oklahoma plains from where I came. Was it irony? The BaTswana have a very rich language, full of allegory and other sophisticated modalities of speech, so I wouldn't be surprised if that was the case. The next village over, where I also served, was called Ditshoswaneng, meaning unknown to me. They were about 7k apart, and I alternated one week at a time going between the two. I chose to walk; partly to save money, and partly because I rode a donkey cart one time, and it was so awkward getting off and on, and the cart rolled over my foot! Also partly because I love solitary walking. Just like when I learned about the joys of mindlessness through running, I came to adore my walks to and home from school on those weeks I traveled to the neighboring village. After about 15 or 20 minutes, the thoughts would quit their ceaseless barrage in my head, and it became like a walking meditation. A time when I didn't have to worry or help anyone. I could simply enjoy the sunshine, how different the thorn bushes looked than the leafy American trees I was used to, what the sounds of silence sound like, and frequently, thoughts began to drift to John the Baptist.
"I am the voice of one calling in the desert; prepare a way for the Lord!" he says in the New Testament. He wore sackcloth and ate the fruits that the desert provided, forsaking the comforts of tribal living among his peers, in order to follow his calling. That's what this is really about. The need to listen to that little voice inside me that whispers when I get quiet. The knowledge that the best part of me has not yet been revealed and needs to be uncovered. I've seen glimpses of that person who understands life is not all about her, in the orange that she always shared with someone on the bus ride home from shopping back to her village, who stood up to the man who tried to steal something out of her purse. No, I will not let you take advantage of me. I may be a foreigner, I may be a woman, but I am worth more than that selfish act of thievery.
The idea of a calling was not foreign to me; I was raised in an evangelical Christian church where people made decisions more on a calling than they did on other principles, laws or traditions. Some of my favorite memories of church were when the missionaries would come to visit. They would bring clothing, toys and other regalia from some remote land where they were serving. I would sit on the edge of my seat, excited to hear the tales of what it was like to leave their home, live with people they had never met and whose culture was foreign to them, but also to fill their calling of ministry. How exciting and scary all at the same time, I imagined you must be very brave and trusting in God to sign up for a job like that. Although I had stopped attending church and thinking about God about a decade prior, one of the ways I stayed centered during my Peace Corps service was to visit the Moffat Mission, located a few miles outside my shopping town of Kuruman.
Kuruman. The outpost of the Kalahari. Home to the Moffat Mission, where David Livingstone visited, and courted Robert Moffat's daughter, Mary. They were married beneath an almond tree, which stands today with a placard noting the significance. Alan Paton wrote about his forays into the bush, seeing remnants of the fabled Lost city of the Kalahari, long before he penned the apartheid novel, Cry the Beloved Country. Departing from Kuruman, when no roads were paved, and only accessible via Land Rover. Water was scarce then as it is today, but not for the white Afrikaaners who live in town, closest to the "eye of Kuruman," a water source. That diversity, abject poverty next to opulence, was one of the hardest parts about serving in South Africa.
Surrounding Kuruman in all directions are townships and villages, where all the BaTswana live, in varying states of poverty to rising middle class. It is common to see tin shack shanties on dusty patches right next door to a brick home with a bit of landscaping in the yard. Most do not have indoor plumbing, but some do. Most do not own a vehicle, but some do. I am reminded of a recent blog post from my friend Becca who talks about the South African culture of ubuntu, which is essentially all about sharing. "People are quietly loaning each other money, bringing food to neighbors, etc. People know when their help is needed, and they bring it. They aren't, like us Americans, trumpeting what they are doing for other people to everyone they know. I think that humility is a part of ubuntu because you do what you do because of the way you are connected to other people. You don't see it as a triumph but as a part of being a person."
Where there is civilization, there will be inequity. One NGO, or volunteer cannot erase this. Dr. Muhammad Yunus, father of the Grameen Bank and microlending, has an inspiring plan to eliminate povery, unemployement and net carbon emissions by leaving capitalism behind, which he chronicles in his latest book, A World of Three Zeroes, published in 2017. The purpose of the Peace Corps is not to eliminate inequities, or poverty, though. To promote world peace and friendship by fulfilling three goals: To help the people of interested countries in meeting their need for trained men and women. To help promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of the peoples served, and to help promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of Americans. For me, understanding took place in a visceral way, of living it, that there are people who have very little or nothing, who live in distress and discomfort,  who are not even a generation removed from an oppressive apartheid government, who have little education, but, who value each other, value the dignity of human life, respect religion, ritual, diversity, helped me see I wasn't on the wrong journey. I had simply just taken the first step.

southeast asian- south african- inspired dish

Serves 2. 250 g whole wheat spaghetti, 4 tbsp crunchy peanut butter, few garlic cloves minced, half onion small dice, thumb size nug ginger minced, small glug oil, tbsp turmeric, one red chili minced, one and a half t curry powder or masala, salt, large pot of water, medium pot or pan. Boil water for pasta. Meanwhile, brown onion with oil, add all other ingedients except peanut butter and cook for a few minutes. Cook pasta al dente and save water. Add peanut butter to onion mix and up to a cup of the pasta water. You want a semi thin consistency. Add pasta and stir. If you can stand it, let stand and refrigerate to eat later. Yum! A nice addition would be bean sprouts and fresh coriander. A complete meal.

Back to africa

Back to africa! Last december, I didn't think this would ever happen. I was convinced that my next visit would be in several years, or only via blog posts and memories. Little did i know i would be headed back before the end of january. It couldn't have happened at a better time. Dead of winter, unemployed and recovering from injury, i need my sunshine and wacky taxis. I need peers, independence, and my sweetheart.

After almost two months back in the states, i had time to think, to process and let things come to light. Such as, absence makes the heart grow fonder, the grass is often greener on the other side, hindsight is 20/20, and i need to be productive in tasks that are fulfilling in order to be content. My family has not somehow morphed into these amazingly perfect characters, i have not changed into an amazingly tolerant and forgiving person to those closest to me. My life was never and has not been put on hold, and i cannot escape reality no matter how much i want to sometimes. Were my lessons learned and experiences gained during my time in the peace corps in vain? Can i take nothing away to interact with the people who mean the most to me? Will i let an amazingly negative string of circumstances get the best of me?

Yesterday, i commented to my family how full i was of piss and vinegar, when someone else described themselves as sweet. No one disagreed. Even though we laughed about it, it still made me think that i have A long way to go before i am again proud of my actions and deeds. Maybe this time, africa.

first musings as a peace corps trainee

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I just wrote a 4 page blog about my African experience, and the computer ate it. Yes, I saved every 10 minutes. Booooo!!!

Anyway, when I left Stillwater, I was exhausted from all the going away parties, goodbyes and emotional stress of leaving someone I love very much (person and pets). I hadn’t anticipated how much the separation would affect me, so it took me by surprise. It was really hard to leave and hold it together. I hadn’t really been nervous, just wiped out and looking forward to a good night’s sleep before flying to Washington, D.C. for staging. I arrived on a muggy, cloudy afternoon to check in to our hotel, and meet my new fellow trainees, soon-to-be volunteers.

I walked into the lobby, and already people acted as if they had known each other for years. I was nervous! As much as I love meeting new people and making new friends, I always get nervous. The first person I really talked to was Karen, a gardener from Kentucky. She reminds me so much of my mom; down to earth, beautiful but totally humble and modest. After an entire day of introductions, what to expect, and some paperwork, we were given money for our last American meal. I chose a sushi restaurant, thinking I might not get to eat it again until after my 2 year service. It proved to be delicious, I could not even finish my meal.

We packed up and left for the clinic the next morning to be vaccinated against yellow fever, then straight to the airport. We arrived about 6 hours early for our flight, so us smokers (myself, Tim a young physicist from Illinois and Anne, a young graphic designer from Minnesota) found coffee in Dulles airport and smoked outside until we boarded South African Airways. Some people scrambled around to change dollars to rand, the South African currency. I did not, I want to try to live and travel solely on my Peace Corps salary. There was an excited hubbub throughout our gigantic line of 43 volunteers. (We started with 45, but one couple woke up late in D.C. and decided not to go.) I thought I might be one of the oldest volunteers at my ripe old age of 27 (now 28!) but definitely am not. There are six married couples in our group, one of them in their early 70s. Two are under 21, and a good portion of us are in our late 20s-early 30s. Some are in their 50s. We come from all over the country, and strangely enough, 4 came from Oregon and had been student-teacher a few years previous. On the plane, I sat next to Kelsey, the 20 year old from New York who recently graduated with a BS in math and attended Obama’s inauguration. We both love baking and food, among other things. It was nice to sit next to someone and form a bond so early on.

After the 19 hour plane ride (one stop in Dakar, did not deboard) we got on a bus for a 2.5 hour ride to Marapyane, where we have been in training. Our new language and cultural teachers greeted us warmly and enthusiastically with traditional BaTswana songs and dancing, and we shared a meal before being assigned individual dorm rooms and a 7am breakfast the next day. I would have loved a shower and a fall into bed, but in the Peace Corps, one rarely gets to make these decisions for oneself. It was the dead of winter and very, very cold. Peace Corps bought everyone bedding, including a mink blanket, which was much needed. No one has indoor heating here.

I wasn’t used to getting up early, complaining if I was woken before 8am back in the States. Now, I wake at 6am everyday (sometimes earlier if traveling), run 10k before dinner, and try to get in some yoga. I am actually training for a marathon in April- it benefits local South African kids to go to college- and it’s a 21k. Well, the half marathon, the one that I’m training for, is 21k. The Ultra is 56k or some crazy thing like that. I never thought I would run in a marathon, but I’ve been doing a lot of things I never thought since I’ve been here.

I’ve stayed with a local family while training in Marapyane, they are an older couple who take care of two of their grandchildren. A boy, aged 7, and a very naughty girl, aged 4. They have all modern ammentities, like an oven, refrigerator, running water, electricity, fruit trees in their backyard, etc. It’s a bit different from my situation at my permanent site, a tiny village about 20k away from Kuruman in the Kalahari desert. I don’t have running water there, but I do have my own 4 room house! A living room with some furniture, a bedroom with big double bed, vanity, and lots of space, a kitchen with a hot plate and soon-to-be refrigerator, and an extra room with nothing in it (yet). I plan to draw and paint in that room, or maybe use it if someone wants to come visit me.

We have a lot of time off for traveling, and I plan to do as much as I can. One of our volunteers stays near Meerkat Manor, some kind of popular place on the Animal Planet channel. I believe we are going there for Thanksgiving this year, and I am supposed to go to Cape town later this month with my school for a field trip. Exciting!

On limited mobility

This is the first time, save when a broke my ankle at age 2, that i have been immobilized; this reason is the left tibia has two fractures, and i cannot bear any weight on the leg for 5 more weeks (total of 6 weeks of estimated healing time). There are metal pins and plates now inside, at knee and shin, keeping the bones level while they heal. Surgery was much less scary than i anticipated, but the pain is oh so much more. Not only do i feel the ache and throbbing at the site of said cutting and metal, but an almost constant cramping of the calf muscle. When i move from a horizontal t vertical position, there is several minutes of pain from rapid circulation, i guess.

Pain management was one of the two most difficult parts of my hospitalization. There were times i felt like Frida, waking from nightmares, screaming in pain, only to be stilled by in injection of strong analgesic. Never have i seen my body tremble so violently from a negative experience. The other terrible part was being alone. I never imagined i would come to need and enjoy the company of others, until this past 15 months of experiences in the peace corps. Especially in such a difficuly time, as being hospitalized, having surgery, and enduring so much pain. I did bond with the peace corps driver who picked me up from kuruman, took me and Jackei to our respective villages, then drove me to pretoria. He agreed to pick up a fellow volunteer so she could accompany me to the hospital. She also came to see me the next day, with another volunteer, and they brought me stuff to read, candy and a really nice card. The following day, a different volunteer came to see me. There aren't people i know all that well, or people i even see very often, but when you're in the peace corps, your bonds with fellow volunteers are very strong. You share this unique experience, and also don't know anybody else. Jackei couldn't leave work to come right away, and i was so grateful for the way these friends quickly accommodated time for me. Without them, i seriously don't think i would have been able to handle this situation. Last weekend, 5 or 6 of my friends were in town to celebrate their birthdays, and stopped by with mimosas to chat for awhile. People have been calling, texting and facebooking me every couple days. I am definately feeling the love.

Since i left the hospital, i have been staying in a private, en suite room with a double bed at this guest house in Pretoria. The peace corps uses this one for all africa volunteers who are in town for medical reasons. Currently, there are 4 other pcvs staying here. Having the company, albeit limited, is really great. One day, they helped me go grocery shopping. Let me describe that experience, just to give you an idea just how limited i really am.

Each morning, the peace corps sends a driver with a minivan (we call them kombis) to the guest house between half past 8 and 9. From here, people are taken to doctors appointments, the peace corps office, or on other errands. On this particular day, i went to the office for a check up with the peace corps doctor. I didn't have an appointed time, as things mostly organically evolve around here rather than adhering to a rigid schedule. I had time to use a computer for about half an hour before i checked in. Hobbled my way, on uneven cobblestones, and up four gigantic steps into the medical building. Up two more steps and down a hallway, to the exam room, and i am dripping with sweat and breathing heavily. By the time i fill out and file some paperwork and finish with my checkup, it is 11 and i am tired. A driver is available, and other volunteers are running errands, so i go so they can help me. The driver pulls right up to the entrance of the shopping plaza, but i must still walk a short distance to the grocery store. Mind you, one week out of surgery, on crutches, tendonitis in the left arm, i am moving at a turtle's pace and sweating again. Trying to remember what i need, my helpers pick and weigh my produce, accompany me to block other idiot shoppers from my hurt leg (people have come dangerously close!) And to make sure i don't fall. What normally takes 10 minutes took me (us) almost 45. I kid you not, i was so weak and shaky and positively soaked in sweat by the time it was over, that i wasn't sure i could make it.

Cooking regales a similar experience. Everything takes twice or 3 times as long, and i can't carry anything. I must put it in a backpack, or a bag that can hook on my crutches. I have carried beer in my pockets and pushed coffee on the tile floor with my crutches. I wash my hair in the sink with my drinking cup while i precariously balance on my good leg. My daily routine involves a distance of less than 1k, no doubt. I am doing seated and lying calisthenics for muscle strength, tone and rehab.

Mentally, it has been tough. Just knowing i can't go anywhere, run for stress relief, do my old yoga routine, almost anything i am used to, is tough. Not knowing if a can go back to my site while i recover or if i will get medically separated and be forced to recover in the states is kind of stressful. I am in the middle of visa applications, community projects, and leaving right now sort of mucks up all my plans. I am supposed to just concentrate on getting well, but when my near future fate is frightfully unknown, it is distracting. Almost as much as the constant charlie horses.

My Africa

My Africa

by Jenneffer Sixkiller
September 2009

A place where the stars surround me
like a blanket of hidden secrets
just waiting to be revealed.

Where the sun's departure leaves a trail
So colorful that it
Takes my breath away.

Where I run with gusto and leave a trail of children
in my wake
Whom I know will remember me tomorrow.

Where the roosters are confused
But sometimes so am I
Maybe

If I make enough hand gestures, and
Say dumela with a smile
Someone will understand me.

Where I never know
Which child belongs to whom
And it doesn't even matter

Where the scent of orange blossoms
Perfumes the air and
Permeates my memory

Of who I am
of who I was,
of who I can become.

Where I have a new family,
a new hane,
a new home.

Falling in Love

I've had somewhat of an adventurous life.  I'm 31 years old, and have tried not to waste any of those years.  I've traveled a bit of the world, met some really interesting people, participated in events that made a difference, drank a lot of beer and made a lot of friends.  I've also savored the experience of falling in love.

The head over heels, world spinning outside your door, glowy feeling that comes when you stumble over that special someone is like no other.  Sometimes you feel like a superhero, invincible and strong.  Other times, it can make you feel week in the knees and stomach, like your heart will jump out of your throat.  And in the tenderest of moments, you feel melded into the other person, two becoming one and never to be separated.  Nobody else matters.  I've spent the last year slowly falling in love with my son.

Once I found out I was pregnant, I was in a state of shock for quite some time.  It wasn't an entirely unplanned pregnancy, but I wasn't really prepared for it, either.  I guess you could say nobody really is, but in my case, my world had just been flipped upside down, and this followed on the tails of another big, life-changing experience.  I had just broken my leg while serving in the Peace Corps, and had to come back to the USA much earlier than planned to live with my parents, as I was homeless, jobless and injured.  Pregnancy was another big stressor, and I wasn't in the best of places to handle it.  But, I did, as best as I could, and had a textbook labor and birth with no complications. 

I did not experience an immediate connection with my son, or have romantic feelings about him or us.  Previously, I had decided I wanted to have an unmedicated birth and nurse, because those were the best choices.  And I dutifully read the books, consulted the experts, joined a support group for breastfeeding moms, and have not wavered from giving him these gifts.  I had some help from my sister and mother, so I was not completely alone.  We waited for my then fiancee to receive his visa so he could come and be with us while he waited in South Africa, not knowing how long that would take.  But for many months, I felt overwhelmed and barely able to be me.  I was getting lost in the swell of the baby, of motherhood, and I was so angry.  I was many times balancing the feelings of anger, regret and sadness at the loss of self, with those of joy, peace and giving of things and time for my son.  Maybe I was struggling with a bit of post-pardum depression?  Maybe those feelings are normal, but people don't talk about them?  In any case, I wished I could be a little more relaxed and just enjoy being a new mother instead of worrying about finding a job, a home, getting my fiancee to the USA, and never having any time for myself.

When my son was about 6 months old, his daddy finally received his visa and we went to meet and accompany him back to the States.  That was not a smooth transition, and it has taken about 6 months for us to adjust and get along.  I had so many expectations of him, what he should be doing to help with the baby, and around the house, I wasn't very gracious at giving him the chance to adjust himself!  I'm not proud of that, but I just couldn't physically be kind and gentle.  I was like a wounded animal, lashing about and feeling guilty about my sanity flying out the window on a regular basis.  I wanted to be peaceful and zen-like, I knew it was possible, but I just couldn't get there.  There were moments of clarity and sanity, but much of the time it was like a roller coaster ride.

Now, it has been 13.5 months since the birth of my son, and I can honestly say I am in love with him.  His morning babbles, his soft skin, smooth little head with whisps of brown hair, his toothy grin that lights up a room, the relief on his face when he sees me, his precious closed eyelids as he drifts off to sleep.  All these things and so much more are the joy of mine just because I am his mother.  I may not do everything right, but I never fail him.  Even when I feel weary, or when I don't feel like it, I play games.  I hold him.  I sing and rock.  I patiently pick up blobs of food after he's finished a meal.  And I don't resent it.  It's certainly not what or how I imagined, but it's motherhood.  I have the peace of mind now that the storm has settled, to realize I am still me.  I can look back on these months and see his gradual independence when it seemed he would be attached to me forever, growth and change, and it's a really neat thing.  I feel privileged to have a healthy baby and to be the center of his world.  It feels great to finally be on the up, and be in the groove again.

Hats Off

Yesterday, a topic arose on my favorite social networking site, the thread quickly spiraling like wildfire unbeknownst to me.  The subjects:  war and peace and politics.  Just one is loaded enough to clear a room, let alone the combination of the three.  I added a thoughtful but hasty reply, but have been chewing on it ever since.

For as long as I can remember, I have been a pacifist, even before I knew what the word meant.  From the core of my being, I feel violence is wrong.  The first time I saw a neighbor kid get punched in the face, my guts wrenched from that skull-smacking-bone-on-bone sound, and I thought I would throw up right there in the front yard where I stood.  I might have been eleven or twelve years old, and now I am thirty-one; so many years and I remember it like it was yesterday.  As I grew, I allied myself with leaders and politicians who also shared this viewpoint, that violence and wars as unnecessary evils.  Today, when I hear news of violence and bloodshed, it really breaks my heart and I wish for peace and understanding for those involved.

For my undergraduate commencement day at Oklahoma State in 2004, the scheduled speaker was an Iraq war general, Tommy Franks.  I have opposed the "War on Terror" and the USA war in Iraq and Afghanistan from its' beginning in 2001.  It has never made sense to me to fight violence with more violence; this is akin to smacking your child and telling him not to hit.  It doesn't make logical sense.  It also destroys and maims real people.  So, I did want to attend the ceremony, because I was proud of my accomplishments, but I did not support the invitation of the speaker.  I chose to use a non-violent, respectful form of protest by writing the words, "NO WAR" on top of my graduation cap.   I did not want to disrupt the day for all the other graduates and their families, but I did feel I had to show my disdain.

My friend Rudy, who is a fellow artist and alumnus from OSU, sat next to me during the ceremony.  We enjoyed a pacifist camaraderie during General Franks' speech, and have kept in touch over the years.  Recently, he was really upset by my support of President Obama for the DNC because of his history of warmongering.  He feels like I have taken off my hat, that I no longer support peace.  At first, I was shocked, and a little dismayed, but the accusation has struck a chord within me.  Are these things true?   Have I become hardened or discouraged, or distracted by more pressing things in my life?  What do I value and hold dear?  Working in rural RSA did harden and embolden me to things which I used to be very sensitive and shy, but did not turn me off human suffering.  If anything, I feel that my passions have increased, and even become more directed than they were when I was a younger person.  Now, I have a much clearer idea of how life works for many in the world, can put a face to the word, because I've put the rubber to the road.  I would say that peace is an abstract idea, a goal, and to get there takes many roads.  I more closely identify myself on a specific road, but always with the end goal in mind.  Helping educate a child is a path to peace.  Rearing your son to be a respectful person is a road to peace.  Volunteering to clean up trash in your neighborhood is a road to peace.  With different jobs come different hats.  My job as a formal student is finished, so I guess I did take off that hat.  Currently, my big job is mother and that hat changes on an hourly basis, it seems.  It is a much less defined role, and certainly less visible than that of a university student, but it is not less important.

Maybe I'm not as fired up and willing to outwardly protest war as I was years ago, but that does not mean I support it.  I certainly will raise my son to respect human life, just as I do.  I want to lead by example that we all have responsibilities and rights, and we should use our gifts accordingly. I probably should better educate myself about President Obama, and other leaders I choose to support, even in the small ways, because somebody is always watching.  It doesn't make sense for a pacifist to support a warmonger, even if he has done other good things for the country.  I do and always will support voter registration, which is not partisan, and that is what I did to show my support for the President.  I feel it is a huge right that should not be taken for granted, because it allows each person to actively be involved in their government.  I also support community, which is another reason I chose to volunteer for the DNC in Charlotte, my "backyard."  In summary, this has been a good chance to re-evaluate where I stand, who and what I support, and to think about life outside mothering an infant, which can be all-consuming at times. 

immigration, part ii

I want to begin this entry with a  description about the process to enter the United States as a foreigner.  Only an elite few are permitted to enter without a  visa        (those from Western European countries, mostly),which can be very difficult and expensive to procure. It can require many items, such as letters from employers, police clearances, affidavits, medical examinations, all of which are expensive, can expire, and can be nearly impossible to retrieve.  As an American passport holder and semi-frequent traveler, I have been waved through customs more often than not.  If I am questioned, it is very briefly and with lack of interest, then stamped and permitted entry to each country I've visited. The single exception is when I visited Mexico in 2002, and was randomly chosen for a full-body and belongings search.  To go through customs with a person who is NOT an American citizen is a scarier beast.  I was not intimidated, but he was, and for good reason.

Jackei and I decided in mid 2010 that we wanted to take our relationship to the next level and get married.  We thought we'd have plenty of time to decide the details, because I was supposed to be volunteering in South Africa until September 2011 with possible extensions of duties, so we didn't really looking into how and where this togetherness would happen.  Halloween of that year changed everything, because that's when I had my accident and broke my leg.  This led to the early termination of my job and time in RSA, so we had to quickly decide what to do.  After searching through the US immigration visa options, we decided to apply for the fiancee visa for Jackei.  We wanted to do it while I was still there, so I could double check the details: that he signed and understood all the paperwork, had the proper attachments and photocopies. We didn't know when we would get to meet again.  I was being shipped back "home" and didn't have immediate plans for the future except to walk. December 4, I had our visa packet and meagre belongings packed and on the plane headed from Joburg to Charlotte, North Carolina. My parents moved here from Coloroado, and before that I lived in Oklahoma, so "home" wasn't really "home," but what was "home" anymore anyway?

Once I arrived in Charlotte, which was my first time there, my big task was to get into physical therapy so I could learn to walk again.  Second was to file Jackei's visa petition via U.S. mail to Dallas.   I was quickly able to file it because my sister kindly chauffered me around in her personal car.  This was a big deal because I had just spent 20 months taking only public transportation, which sometimes included waiting on the side of the road for an hour or more and riding in the back of pickup trucks to get somewhere.  It takes a lot of effort and time to get simple errands done when you're always waiting on transport.  Anyway, back to the visa.

I received a confirmation letter, which stated that immigration had received my request, sometime in January.   In between that time, I also discovered I was pregnant. I decided I wasn't ready for the USA and living with my parents again after ten years of living on my own, so I planned to go back to South Africa to say with Jackei for an undefined amount of time.  The idea was that he would get his visa while I was there, and we could return together.  Little did  know the process would take much, much longer.

Upon receiving that confirmation letter, we had to wait for the foreign post to contact us regarding the details for Jackei's interview.  He was nervous about the interview because he doesn't understand American English very well (South Africans have a British-sounding accent, as well do Indians and Bangladeshis who speak English), and he didn't know what kinds of questions they would ask.  Would I be permitted to go with him?  I couldn't wait for some undefined amount of time, so I began emailing every e-mail address I could locate asking questions.  This was no easy task because in order to use a computer, I had to hitch a ride or wait for a taxi or bus to go to the nearest town, trek across town on my gimpy, limpy leg, and hope one of the internet cafes had electricity or working online connection that day.  The 7 hour time change is also difficult, because that means you have to wait until the next day to receive a reply.  I did have an application for gmail on my cell phone, so I could easily check and read emails, but writing them using the cell phone was like sending an SMS; not easy and not professional-looking.  Can you imagine?  "dear consular rotfl :) so funny cheers jenneffer...i mean, not a good idea."

Someone at the Johannesburg consulate office did check e-mail frequently, which was a huge shock to me.  I had been accustomed to 20 months of little to no response via e-mail from businesspeople and non-profits alike in RSA.  Maybe people knew it was important to register for e-mail and have a business website, but not necessarily to check the e-mail and update the website regularly.  I received by e-mail a 40 page document with instructions on what to do before Jackei would be eligible for an interview.  Part of this included obtaining police clearance letters from countries he has lived since he was 16 years old, with an asterisk at the top and bottom of each page listing "do not bother getting certificates from these countries because they aren't what we need," and the 2 countries where he lived were on this list.  He had to get and pay for a medical exam, pay a fee in the sum of over $400 USD, and the petition I filed just to request his visa interview was about the same price, and sign many papers promising he is not a terrorist, isn't going to practice poligymy, and so many other items of that nature.  Then, when he called, he was told that yes, he did indeed have to get those police clearances, and he couldn't have the interview until they were obtained.  One he could receive in about a month's time, the other took over 3 months and many calls from me to the head office in the capital city, back to    the consulate office in South Africa,      emails and calls to Jackei.

I thought he would have his visa in a few months' time, but I was wrong.     He wasn't any closer by the time I was nearing my third trimester of pregnancy. While in RSA, I had one anti-natal checkup, with everything coming along just fine.  But, the nearest gynecology clinic was booked solid for months and was over two hours travel time away.  It was time for me to come back to the USA.  I was so anxious about this!  I didn't want to come back, I certainly didn't want to come back without Jackei, but I felt like I needed to be near good health facilities for my baby.  A good friend who was still serving his Peace Corps time agreed to accompany Jackei to his interview, providing it was scheduled while he would still be in the country, and I was really thankful for this.  Turns out, this was a HUGE help.  Jackei said he didn't understand hardly anything the American consulate officer told or asked him without our friend's assistance translating from American English to South African American English.  {Do you know this Ryan, we will never forget how much you helped our family to be together!}When I came back to the USA, my sister told me I didn't need to talk to our family members like they are stupid, that they understand me.  I was so used to South African American English, i.e. speaking very slowly and       clearly enunciating every word, I didn't realize I was doing it.  Since Ryan helped Jackei get through the interview, he realized his South African paperwork was not in order and ha dto go straighten that out before he could get the visa.  One stumbling block down, many more to go.

back to RSA and immigration, part I

Jasmir and I flew to South Africa a few weeks ago and planned to stay for a week to meet Daddy, and be there so when he went through the immigration process, we could help.  According to him, our presence would be "big proof" if he encountered any problems.  Although I was positively anticipating this trip for over a year, the nearer it drew the more nervous I became.  Since Jasmir was born, I've been a single parent.  For six months, every decision was mine.  Every smile was mine.  Every poopy diaper was mine.  You get the idea.   Even though I had to do all the work, I got all the rewards.  I didn't have to explain or justify my decisions to anyone, or share the burdens of raising a child.  Traveling to RSA to meet Jackei meant that would all change.

Meeting his father for the first time and reuniting with my fiancee after almost one year of being apart was certainly exciting and positive.  I was nervous and shy about it, though, and am still adjusting.  To begin with, Jackei was late to meet us at the airport, and I started to freak out because I didn't have a phone or any rands. Then, I thought I left my wallet on the plane. In no time, though, we did all manage to meet up, get to our backpackers and eat before we tried to sleep to began our first day together as a family.

Each day, Jackei traveled to the Home Affairs office, which is the South African equivalent of our Homeland Security or USCIS.  The task he was supposed to accomplish would take an officer five minutes to complete, and send him on his way.  Each and every person wants to receive a "little extra" (meaning a bribe) and even though he has paid and did pay again this time, they still did not help him.  They said they were too busy helping new immigrants or what-what.  A friend of his said that he didn't need to worry about this document, as it was not necessary, but I heard otherwise.  Many things in other countries do not work according to strict adherence to rules, but rather to the whims of whomever is executing the duty.  There was nothing else we could do regarding this step of the process, so we gathered up our last minute items, said our goodbyes and headed for the airport.

During the time while Jackei was busy with government affairs, Jasmir and I were just cruising Pretoria and meeting up with old friends.  I was really happy to take him to South Africa because it is really an exciting place.  There is so much diversity in such a small place.  Walking down the street, you will hear at least 4-5 different languages, see people of several races, from lots of styles and classes. The place we stay is relatively safe, and as I anticipated, we had a grand time.  He enjoyed marketing, sightseeing, the zoo, my friend Dr. Jaco, and all the people at our guesthouse.  He got to see inside a Chinese kitchen, ride on a public taxi, play with schoolchildren, learn some Afrikaans and Tswana, try ice cream and guava, and meet his uncle Sohid.  I found that traveling in Pretoria with an infant was actually much easier than traveling as a single lady.  People were much kinder to me, instead of looking at me as if I had horns growing out of my head or yelling at me for not speaking enough Setswana.

Last time, I came with a general idea to learn, to see, to develop compassion and do some work.  This time, I came with a specific purpose; to fetch a member of my family. I was a bit nervous about our experience with the immigration officers, both in RSA and the USA, but Jackei was really really nervous.  His family in Bangladesh gathered around 500 people for a "pray party" to petition God for our safe and successful travels.  He had everything to lose, so it stands to reason he would be sweating bullets.  As far as we understood the processes, his paperwork was all in order.  We checked and double checked, with the help of some awesome friends and my fastidious fact-checking, and piled out of our taxi at OR Tambo to immigrate.

sugar

I've had a few revelations over the last weeks, sometimes while taking walks outside in the mild Carolina weather, or while watching my baby make bubbles and faces at me, but nothing really worth writing an entire blog entry about.  So, I'll write about what's been on my mind:  sugar.

I was overweight for a lot of my life.  I was a chunky kid and teen, before the obesity epidemic hit and most kids weren't chunky. My mom cooked all our meals and we ate nutritiously, but subscribed to the, "finish your plate" concept.  Or maybe I just liked to overeat? I lost weight for a short time in high school, but I don't really remember what drove me to, or how I did it.  I didn't enjoy sports or come from an athletic background so I didn't exercise.  Once I got to college, I gained a freshman 15, then a sophomore 15.  By the time my sister graduated high school in the spring of 2002, I didn't even recognize myself in a photograph, I had gotten so fat.  How did I get that way?  I walked everywhere, and had jobs in kitchens where I was on my feet the whole time.  One of those jobs was as a cake decorator.

While working, there was always something to snack on in the bakery.  Fresh chocolate chip cookies, leftover cake crumbs, you name it, it was there.  My significant other and I would treat ourselves once a week or so to a dinner at a restaurant, and probably cleaned our plates, not realizing each plate was really meant for a family.  I developed a  love for cooking, and used a lot of butter, olive oil, and I'm sure I didn't eat enough vegetables.  Anyway, by the time I realized I was fat, I was pretty fat.  It really grossed me out to see that photo.

One day sometime around the time I started graduate school, or maybe before that, I decided once and for all that I would start getting active.  I realized my current diet and exercise routine was not cutting the mustard, and so I got a bicycle and told myself I would ride it to work one day a week.  Slowly, I enjoyed it, so I increased the amount of times I rode to work.  Then, I kinda just started riding it everywhere.  Sometime after that, I decided I wanted to do yoga.  So, I checked out this DVD from the library, liked it, and moved to the next level once that got easy.  Slow changes. 

My love of cooking started in college.  I remember my friend Melissa and I would relish our Saturday nights when we could watch Iron Chef together on the free college cable in her dorm room.  We would marvel over how the chef could butcher an eel and create five first-class dishes in one hour!  Nothing was off limits, and boy, was I curious.  Growing up, I thought I hated steak because steak was black and chewy.  It wasn't until a "steak dinner night" in the dorm cafeteria that I realized steak could be pink and soft and tasty!  Granted, I did go to an ag school (woot woot Oklahoma State!), so they knew about their beef, but you get the point.  An entire culinary world awaited me that I never knew existed, and I intended to grab it by the horns and make it mine.  That included the cake decorating and baking world, the magical world of sugar.

Fast forward like 5 years to today.  So, I took up running when my nephew was born, September 2008 but didn't really get any distance behind me.  I ran 2 miles like 5 days a week with my dog, and I had really gotten my diet to a healthy place:  lots of fresh, local veggies, fresh fruits and not very much meat, but legumes and yogurt.  Whole grains, all that good stuff.  Cooking nearly every day, for myself and for friends.  Then I joined the Peace Corps, and lo and behold, lots of runners in my intake group!  Several people, especially, were so encouraging that I keep running and try for a marathon.  Me, who has never been athletic, or even that physically fit, run a marathon?  You've got to be kidding!  I thought.  But, I thought if I could get to South Africa, live in a village and do crazy education work that I know little or nothing about, I guess I could train for a marathon.  And so I did!  Living in the village with no oven and a very tight budget, I did not make very many sweets.  A couple times, i made cinnamon rolls in my leftover food tins and took them to school, and they were a very big hit.  But, I bought and soaked my beans, ate rice often, veggies, fruit, and battled for the clean water.  Talk about healthy living!  But I really did miss making those cakes.  Before I left the USA in July 2009, I was doing wedding cakes and other celebration cakes on "the side" out of my kitchen, here and there in my spare time.  While I was away though, I realized that is something I'd like to pursue full-time.  But there arose a quandry:  how to rectify my new healthy changes to my baking?

In order to remain true to myself, my purpose, my calling, I had to find a way to bake more healthfully.  Sure, a big, fat, rich, piece of chocolate cake is amazing to eat every once in awhile, but do I feel good about proffering this to a public saying, "this is good for you, buy it?"  not really.  So, I've been on the hunt for recipes that are more healthful than the traditional butter, sugar and refined wheat flour-filled treats we are accustomed to, and recipes for those with special dietary needs like gluten-free and vegan diets.  It has been kind of a bumpy road, let me tell ya.  Nothing is worse than pulling your pan out of the oven and having the item look like a science experiment, or waiting patiently for a cupcake to cool only to have it feel like gummy sand in your mouth.  When the highlight of my day is waiting for enough time to put together a recipe, and it is a bust, it can be depressing.  But, there have been some bright spots, which is encouraging.

I tried Jessica Seinfeld's recipes from her book Deceptively Delicious, thinking that is a great idea, to use veggie purees instead of milk or oil in recipes, but they aren't right, IMHO.  You can tell there is something "amiss" and sometimes even taste the veggies in the finished products.  I've tried lots of different suggestions for vegan stuff that doesn't involve "fake butter" or "fake eggs," and those don't really work out either, for the most part.  I've had the biggest successes with the gluten-free items, blending different flours together to get good taste and textures for some things.  So, I think this will work.  It's just too bad that seven minute icing doesn't last longer than a day, because that is the perfect icing!  Very low fat, marshmallowey texture, and oh-so-dreamy...I digress.

A good friend of mine thinks that sugar is evil.  In order to stop my unhealthy habits of eating, in the beginning, I had to think that way, too.  I had to take it out of my diet almost completely in order to be able to incorporate it moderately.  I realize though that each person has his or her own way of dealing with difficulty.  I also realize that, in my never-ending quest for knowledge that our bodies process sugar in the same way they do alcohol- as a toxin.  On a chemical level, our body cannot tell the difference between fructose, glucose or alcohol.  Sugar is found rarely in nature and is not a part of a whole-foods diet.  It has been linked to obesity, particularly in children.  Etc, etc. etc. etc.  So, what is the answer to a health-conscious bakery question; to replace all sugar with Splenda?  To make products that are just much less sweet?  Yes, no, other.  To promote an active, balanced lifestyle and "practice what I preach" seems to be a good solution, sort of.  One of my friends was recently training for a marathon, and I told her how awesome that she keeps us aware of her fitness updates.  I think my exact words were, "You're a machine!"  She said, "No, I just have a wicked sweet tooth."

Learning Compassion

Immediately, when I read or hear the word, "compassion," I think of the two aspects of a Bodhisattva, an enlightened being trying to achieve nirvana, wisdom and compassion.  A Bodhisattva is a follower of the Buddha, one who wishes to throw off the shackles of attachment to worldly goods and thoughts, to help others, to achieve moksha, or freedom from the cycles of life and become one with the universe.  These two attributes are most difficult to learn, and even more difficult to put into practice. 

One personal goal I hoped to achieve by leaving my professional track in the information sciences was that of compassion.  I wanted it, and not like a new bicycle or bag of apples.  I wanted it like one wants a good pair of jeans or a cashmere sweater, something to last a lifetime and something that gets forgotten about but used all the time.  I sincerely desired to become a more compassionate person, as opposed to the cerebral, clinical, critical cynic that I am.  It was paramount at that time to make a foolish financial decision by leaving my student loan debts, contacts, career and home behind in favor of a period of personal growth and diminished physical goods.  The rationale was that I could always work, but I could not always be so unemcumbered to embark on such an adventure.  And I don't regret it.  I'm just wondering what happened to the zeal I had for wanting to soften up and get to my underbelly, to live in the bottom of the pot of human need and emerge with a new sense of humanity.

Lately, I have been reminded of my cruel humor and that I delight in others' failure.  While this may sound terrible, it is true.  I just can't wait to point out what someone has done wrong, and find it hard to hold my tongue.  I just want to give everyone advice, as if my thinking and knowledge are the right ones.  What about those lessons I learned in rural South Africa, about the importance of family, and looking out for one another as fellow humans, giving attention to a child because maybe nobody else does?  What about all that listening, and time spent observing and helping, rather than being the first to criticize?  There were entire days that would pass in SA where I wouldn't speak more than a greeting, and I sure did an awful lot of helping.

One theory is that, because the pendulum swung so drastically from "free, selfish American" to "poor, stranger, volunteer" it's now swinging back to the selfish American side again.  Instead of softly and gracefully transitioning back to this cushy, wasteful lifestyle, I whirled like a dervish into it, thrashing about, trying to find my way amid a cespool of wasteful gluttony, gasping and grasping at whatever I could find that seemed normal. 

Another is that, by choosing to live with my family, with whom I had not addressed several deep and large issues from the past, I compounded my difficulty of readjusting to American life, and have been failing miserably at achieving my goals because I just couldn't hack it.  I really only have those two theories, so if you have a better one, please send it my way.

By becoming a mother, I automatically have more compassion for babies and children, as this is a biological necessity for survival, I think. I must be sensitive to the needs of my child or he will not prosper, and that just makes sense from a scientific perspective.  Crying means something is wrong, whether it be company, diaper change, hunger, or sleep.  Movement indicates development, so once he starts moving a lot I must be more careful where he lays, such as, not from a high ledge or near anything sharp or precariously balanced.  Ok, that makes sense.  But I'm trying to make sense of this set of values that is cruelty/compassion, and that is not as clearly sensible.

In one of my classes in "library school," I enjoyed learning about information seeking behavior and sense-making.  All queries, informal or formal, are a person's way of making sense about the world.  As we study the different ways people can come at a problem, we can understand a lot more about them and about the discipline of information management (new term for library science) as a whole.  One big surprise to me was that most people, especially professors with doctorate degrees, will first ask a colleague when they need a question answered. That's right, they want to talk to a human being, not an encyclopedia, or a peer-reviewed journal, a buddy.  Medical doctors are the same way.  So now, physicians bring laptops or notebooks into the exam room and record their info into your digital chart, but you know what?  Even though they have access to the internet, to look up medical information in journals or medlineplus.gov or whatever, they don't do it.  They go next door to consult with their colleague or they rely on their memory to give you the information you need.  The South Africans I lived with placed their trust entirely in those with authority for their information seeking.  Need help with a tea, go ask the sangoma (traditional healer).  Want someone to help you fix the water, go ask the kgosi (chief).  Need help with your homework, go talk to the legkoa (white person).  It was pretty simple, you ask the person who knows.  You don't go to the internet and "google it," or ask around until you get the best deal. 

So far, what i have done to feed my query is the following:  sought out books, documentaries and web sources to remind me what is important i.e. sustainable food and living, composting and gardening, living a life of little carbon footprint.  I have been in communication with friends who are compassionate and seek the same kind of higher living and thought.  I have asked trusted family members to help me with my quest, and engaged them in some difficult conversations.  The key, it seems, is awareness.  Now that I am again aware of my quest, and aware of my shortcomings, I can begin to achieve success in my goal.  I don't see this as a terminal quest, but one that will take a lifetime.  Sometimes the task seems daunting, but mostly I see it as an exciting challenge.  The tough part is trying to explain to people how the moral compass fits into life outside the box of religion...

in da club. parenthood club, that is...

"PLEASE ACCEPT MY RESIGNATION. I DON'T WANT TO BELONG TO ANY CLUB THAT WILL ACCEPT PEOPLE LIKE ME AS A MEMBER". attributed to Groucho Marx

I find it strange, crazy and hilarious that I am in the parenthood club.    For one, I don't even really like kids.  For two, I did not receive a copy of the handbook.  I like my own kid, and kids I get to know on a one-on-one basis, if they are reasonably well-behaved, but large groups of children in general, I have never really enjoyed.  South African village living did go a long way in changing this fact about me, as I had many enjoyable moments with children there, but had many dreaded moments with the thought of being around children all day long, as well.  And I am a Virgo, which means I like to know the rules, regulations and expectations of any given situation before embarking on membership.  Unfortunately, this club has very few rules, and is really hard to understand the purpose unless one has joined.

One thing I've noticed that is different since joining this club is that I make sure to keep up with other people's kids and their goings-on.  I wasn't very good about doing that before, but now, I see how much a priority one's child becomes in one's life.  For example, I've started keeping track of kids birthdays and plan to send cards or greetings each year, if I cannot attend any functions due to proximity barriers.  I remember my birthdays as a child, and they were always a lot of fun even though they did not usually include friends, but cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents.  We lived near many family members, which made these family parties easy to facilitate.  Once there was a birthday in the park with a pinyata (tilde, where art thou?), a raggedy ann cake my mom made, a Casa Bonita birthday, the list goes on. Anyway, people really shape the life of a child, and I guess I didn't really "get" that until now.

Another thing that's different is that I find things "cute" where I would have sneered or not batted an eye at said things a few months ago.  Such as, my nephew jumping on the bed and my four-week-old son being bounced up and down to mimic his jumping on the bed, too.  Or a newborn flannel shirt.  Or the small, dark watchful eyes of my son.  You get the idea. 

Another thing that really gets me about this whole "parenthood" role is that there need not be fanfare or hullabaloo surrounding the transition into parenthood, especially after pregnancy.  It's just the most natural thing in the world to take care of the thing that was growing inside you, at least that has been my experience.  My friend Barbara said that very thing to me, giving me small snippets of this sage advice as I was preparing for the birth of my child, and she was certainly right on.  Most answers can be derived from instinct.  Those that require outside help can be quickly and easily found if one has a good network in place, and accurate media.  The first few weeks were rough, attributed to the adjustment of mother and child to aspects of our new lives and the rush of hormones that accompanies delivery.  Now, it's pretty gravy, akin to troubleshooting a computer problem.  That cry means something's wrong...hungry, diaper, lonely?  That cry means he is angry.  Gas?  Too long in one locale?  That cry is kind of a fake one...he just wants some cuddle time.  Kind of like, did you plug in the machine?  Did you try restarting the program? 

I've enjoyed taking tons of newborn pictures, sending out birth announcements, comparing baby's body parts to mom and dad to see who he resembles more, trying to keep socks on his feet, figuring out what he likes to do best so he doesn't cry all the time, and my life has been completely consumed by my child.  Instead of this being an inconvenience, or a bigger deal than I expected, it has just been the way it is supposed to be, the next step of the journey.  I wonder how much of this ease comes from biology, and how much can be attributed to conditioning (aka spending time in the Peace Corps)?

Labor and delivery, some after birth (but not placenta)

So anyone who tells you there is something romantic about natural childbirth is a dirty liar.  Just want to preface that right away, get it out in the open.  Now that's out of the way, I can try to describe my labor and delivery experience, resulting in one teeny baby named Jasmir Francis Alam.

For about one week up to the day of delivery, I started having mild cramps that lasted for a few minutes, mostly in the evening time, similar to a normal monthly menstral cramp; that is to say, not too painful, but an indication that some change is happening.  The first time this happened, I thought it might be the indicator that labor was shortly coming.  Then, when it didn't, I just kind of ignored them, or just got used to them and didn't really pay closer attention.

The day I actually went into labor was Saturday.  I visited a local bicycle shop with my mom, sister and nephew because I asked for a bicycle for my birthday gift.  Since I was 41 weeks pregnant on that day, we knew labor could happen anytime, so we thought we should go try out some bikes while I could comfortably sit and before September 10, which is my birthday, rolled around.  So, in the early afternoon, I found this great cruiser that was on a special clearance, and it happened to be super comfortable and awesome, so I took it for a test spin, and could comfortably ride at 9 months pregnant, so deemed it a good fit.  Then, we went to eat lunch at a local Thai restaurant, kind of a hole in the wall place, and with an incredibly amazing sushi bar.  I know that certain things are not recommended for pregnant women to eat, raw fish included, but being the rebel that I am, I took my chances several times throughout and indulged.  We ate, took a grocery shopping trip, which entailed me hanging out in the parking lot with my nephew, letting him pretend to drive, then headed home.

After a few hours, I started helping with dinner.  That's been something nice my family has been trying to do, at my request, is eat dinner together.  That was the "last meal," as I started having some serious labor pains after dinner.  It just slowly creeped up on me, starting more that morning, then just coming like in 15 minute intervals, then 10, then 5, and by that point, I was starting to freak out a little.  It was really hurting, and I thought, "well, this sucks." My sister suggested it was time to go to the hospital, but I just wasn't ready.  Mentally, I thought I would be more prepared, but I wasn't.  But I just started getting in that mode where I listened to her, then my doula, once we arrived at the hospital, then went into my own world from there.

We arrived at the hospital at midnight, and they kept me in triage for over an hour.  My cervix was dilated 4 cm and the baby was at -2 station, so maybe they were keeping me a bit longer so they could admit me.  I'm not really sure, and the contractions had sort of stalled out by that time, and weren't very painful (in comparison to the later ones, anyway) so we were just chatting with the nurse and waiting on my body to do its' thing.  Once they admitted me, after about an hour or so, the contractions started getting really painful and I was, well, surprised about how hard it was.  When I broke my leg, i thought I could not top any pain like that, ever again, as that was so intense and so crazy, and it made me kind of bitter, so I thought labor would be a cinch.  Wow, do I ever feel like an idiot!

So for some reason, I had decided I wanted to keep my new running shoes on.  Ever since I broke my leg and could walk again, I have pretty much lived either barefoot or in running shoes.  My mom bought me some a few days before I gave birth, so I was ecstatic about having foot comfort again, after limping around in my old South African running shoes.  And I know myself, how I don't ever just sit down, and thought I'd like to be comfortable during labor.  And I was right on the not sitting down part anyway.  I didn't sit or lie down once, until they made me at the very end.  No position was comfortable, to say the least, but the best ones were sitting on the toilet, squatting up and down, and grabbing onto any handle-like object and leaning or squatting.  Good lord, that was the craziest most painful thing I have ever done in my life.  It certainly trumps surfing, breaking my leg, nearly getting arrested, or any other crazy things I've experienced.  All the books, stories, and information that talks about birth as this romantic notion I can understand in the abstract, but in concrete, real-life, I think it is hell.  I still feel all queasy with nausea and teary-eyed thinking about how bad it hurt, and how I felt like my sanity was super close to teetering off the deep end several times throughout.

My doula and my sister both commented on how focused I was, and how well I did, but I was moaning and groaning and screaming because I couldn't help it.  I kept thinking how I ought to be able to go to some happy yoga place in my mind to trick it away from the pain, but instead, what I focused on.  They say every mom finds her way to get through it.  Then, at the end, the reward is this baby.  But I was just glad it was over!  I didn't really think of it that way at all, until after the suctioning, stitching, cleaning, etc. were complete and I could get a chance to focus on life outside labor again.  It was a totally tunnel-vision type of experience, but not religious whatsoever.  Before labor began, I was really sad that Jackei couldn't be with me.  Now, after it's over, I'm really glad he wasn't here.  Nobody should have to see somebody they love go through that crap!  I'm really amazed my sister actually wanted to help me, and was really, really glad she was there.  I'm also really glad I hired a doula.  The two of them made a great team, and I could NOT have done it by myself.  The nurses and everyone in the hospital taking care of me were great, too, because they all supported my plan to go "au natural" but if I ever do it again, a) I must be crazy, and b) I'll take a Tylenol or something!

Anyway, it seems when i write anything significant, it's always about pain.  Well, it seems I entered my time of pain in life, and hopefully am kind of on the way out.  I know motherhood is a totally different kind of path, and it has actually been great so far, but lots of special pains involved with it.  It took me awhile to bond with my son, but not too awfully long, and he's terribly cute so it wasn't really that hard :)  It's just that nothing, absolutely nothing, prepares you for the long road of pregnancy, labor, delivery, and motherhood.  Not all the books and manuals in the world, the well-meaning advice from friends of family, your own imagination, nothing.  I am looking forward to what this new beginning will bring, but am really, really glad the last part is finished.

past due date, still waiting for godot

It's been nearly two weeks since we moved into our new house on Willow Oak Road, and it really feels like home.  My sister and I were both pretty nervous about moving, because we thought it just seemed so far away from many of the places we frequent:  doctors offices, YMCA, splash parks, shops, etc. but it's manageable, and it's really peaceful to live near the lake.

We've been working non-stop at a steady pace; unpacking, hanging, cleaning, cooking, while our dad has been doing things like putting doors on, fixing doorknobs, changing light fixtures, etc.  The house had not been kept up all that well, and it just seemed easier to us to get as much taken care of as possible before the new addition to our family arrives, either Jannat or Jasmir.

I've not been able to cycle or swim, or use the elliptical everyday like I had become accustomed to before the move, and that's starting to really bug me.  I have been plenty busy, and take a walk everyday as well as my yoga routine, but really looking forward to some activity again.  Come on baby!  It's really weird to think that in a matter of mere moments, I just won't be pregnant anymore.  Oh, and then there will magically be another human appearing.  I don't know how I'm going to feel about it, only time will tell.

Walking takes twice as long now, with this enormous pressure in my lower back.  I catch glimpses of myself in the mirror and do a double-take, as no human should have to protrude that much from one area of the body- it's very odd. 

is it time?

The last few weeks have been kind of tumultuous.  At least three days of each week are spent in various doctors' offices or laboratories, as I have my various ailments tended to, while I run errands and go swim at the YMCA in between and after appointments.  These errands have consisted mostly of hunting for low-priced furniture and home furnishings for my room.

When I left the States in July 2009, I got rid of my meager collection of belongings, including a bicycle, lots of framed artwork, cheap furniture, and kitchen gadgets.  I procured the biggest/baddest of the kitchen stuff while I journeyed to Oklahoma, but I'm pretty much starting from scratch.

I'm staying with my parents, so I don't have an entire house to furnish, just a room for me, my new coming baby, and fiancee.  Many items were generously given to me by friends in Oklahoma, but I needed shelving and drawers, and a bed.  I managed to get all these things, and have almost finished sanding and painting the bookshelves, and am still working on stripping the paint and old stain from a really pretty wooden chest of drawers i found at Habitat Restore, but man...I did not anticipate the time it would take to refinish this piece.  I'm running out of time, because we are moving to a new house on Sunday (this is Friday night, just shy of midnight), I may or may not be getting ready to go into labor, and I have been pretty stressed about the living situation.  Not only does my youngest brother still live at home with my parents, but also my sister and almost 3 year old nephew.  I don't have my own vehicle, and so I'm sharing with my family.  I have a lot of appointments, which places a burden on them, but mostly on my sister because my parents are always at work.  She doesn't work, but she has this pressing need to take my nephew to many places rather than stay home and find things to do.  So, being mobile, but in a limited capacity, has been somewhat of a strain.  They say you can never go home again.  Well, "they" are pretty smart because it proves to be a huge burden sometimes, although I try to remind myself of the alternative:  living in a small grocery shop in a rural South African village, 2.5 hours away from a decent hospital and obstetrician, with no car to get there. 

So, as I've tried my best to live within these parameters, I've also been in pretty debilitating pain.  I did something to my back/SI joint on the left side, and for almost 2 weeks, could barely walk, sleep, or really do much that involved movement.  While attending sessions with an amazing chiropractor, physical therapist and massage therapist, I was shopping for furniture, swimming, and still doing my yoga- cooking, trying to clean up after people at our house, interact with them, and battle my mood swings/pregnancy hormones with no support from any nearby friends, I think it's time.

Maybe I'm finally succumbing to the stress of it all, or maybe I am in early labor?  Only time will tell, I'll keep you posted.  BTW it's Eastern Standard Time, 11:58pm, Friday, 19 August 2011.  My sister, Esther, who lives in Colorado, just gave birth to her first baby yesterday evening, little baby Rueben (sandwich).  My mom flew out this afternoon to go spend a week helping her take care of herself and her new addition.  Best wishes to them, and best rest and relaxation for me.

more about the baby

This post is ranty.  This is your disclaimer.  This will allow me to segue into my first point...

I guess I didn't realize how much pent up energy or anger or frustration or whatever i had lurking in my heart of darkness after serving in the peace corps.  Spending two years living without things at different times:  pride, privacy, dignity, choice, attractiveness, peers, friends, intellectual stimulation, communication, transportation, comfort, etc., really took it's toll.  Combine that with some physical pain and restriction from my injury, separation from my fiancee, moving back in with my parents-sister-and-nephew, and the growing of a fetus, you've got yourself one big tornado of stress whirling your way.  I've never been so volitile and stupid (pregnancy fog), and both of those things are increasingly frustrating.

Because of my injury and abrupt termination of peace corps service, i did not have the benefit of attending any workshops the organzation provides volunteers about transitioning into "normal life" again.  I see now that would have been really helpful.  My sister tells me I talk to everyone like they're old and stupid.  (Well, they're probably one or the other right?! Heh heh, sorry...)  She says I hurt her feelings all the time because I say things too bluntly.  I find myself being increasingly less compassionate and tolerant.  How much of this is post peace corps and how much is the pregnancy and stress?  I don't know, but I think I need to create a cave.  I used to have one, it was called my own house.  And when I had roommates, I used my art studio for this retreat.  Perhaps I ought to get busy finding something similar before i alienate myself from everyone I know, eh?

Another odd discovery about pregnancy is that I'm beginning to see little parts poking from my belly.  Possibly elbows and knees, or maybe little fists?  Thanks, little one, for punching and kicking.  That means you're still alive! Who needs a machine that goes, "ping!"?  It's weird for me to feel around to try and tell which position it's in because it kind of freaks me out.  Some people just cannot accept my clinical fascination over an emotional response, but I'm not really surprised.  These same people rely on their emotions far too much for my fancy in other situations, so it only makes sense.  No matter though, because it is my pregnancy and I'll enjoy it or be freaked out by it if I want.

I've ALREADY been battling my mom and sister about baby stuff.  I am just not a stuff person, and I never will be.  And neither is my child, at least, not yet. No matter how many times you ask me, or bring stuff home, or try to convince me, I do not need stuff.  And neither do you.  You have been convinced by clever marketing to think you need stuff.  If you need a reminder of your disgusting dependence on physical items to fulfill your needs, I recommend viewing the film, "Fight Club." Reading the book is alternately recommended.  I actually find it comical that they cannot comprehend how a baby can survive without a jumping gymnasium, playmat with junk hanging down from it, whirling singing toys, and the like.  Perhaps in the same way they have done so for millions of years before the arrival of Fisher Price?  Just fine, or in fact, maybe even more successfully, because this means another human will have to be involved in the baby's exercise and playtime as opposed to the baby being left to exercise in some equipment while no one else is around.  It's not that I don't understand how a lot of these things can make life easier for a person, or how much joy they receive from their things.  I just happen to favor old fashioned people over things and would rather have less than more. 

Not quite used to modern conveniences, and hand-washing of dishes

I've said this several times since returning to the USA from RSA, but I'll say it again:   I still get tripped out about the washing machine, electric clothes dryer, and the dishwasher.  So much of my time in rural South Africa was spent cleaning.  I do not have an OCD, nor would I classify myself as a "clean freak," but I do like to keep my living quarters tidy and sanitary. When I say, so much of my time was spent cleaning, I don't mean because I wanted my house spotless, but because of the water issue.

Water is scarce in many parts of the world, particularly in the Kalahari desert, where I lived from September 2009-November 2010, and from January 2011-May 2011.  Just procuring and treating drinking water consumed a large quantity of time.  Factor in water for bathing, cleaning and washing, and you have a lot of your day consumed by the generic term, "cleaning."  For one person, each time I washed clothes, I probably used 40 litres of water.  For cleaning my dishes each day, I probably used 2-3.  Bathing can be estimated at 5 litres per bath.  Laundry day started early in the summer months, because hauling water is quite the chore and you wanted to get that out of the way before it became too hot.  Then you also wanted to wash before the heat of the day set in, because it's definitely a workout to hand wash clothes in buckets and pails.  Then drying was easy, because you just used your pegs (clothes pins) and hung them out on the line, and in the dry Kalahari, would be dry in a matter of 2 hours or less in summertime. During winter, you wait until the sun comes out so you don't freeze your ass and fingers off before plunging them into the water, and sometimes you heat the water first.  This also takes time.

Lest I belabor the point and render it completely useless, doing laundry in the USA consists of piling your dirties into a box, pouring soap on top, turning a dial and pushing a button.  Then you walk away.  Well, possibly loading coins or tokens at a laundromat.  ??????  No traipsing down to the village tap, lugging litres of water back to your house, swishing said water with super strong washing powder, and getting your daily arm workout?  I'm still finding the whole process to be very convenient, indulgent and wasteful, all at the same time.

I haven't had the same issue with dishwashing, however, because I never used a dishwasher in the USA.  I spent most of my adult life living in places that did not have a dishwashing machine.  I was happy being the dishwasher. I would (and still do) fill a large bowl or basin with hot water, add some liquid dish soap, get my dirty dishes, and start scrubbing.  Once they are sufficiently cleaned, I turn on the tap and rinse.  Pretty simple task, I believe children often perform this same task around the world, and perform well.  You wouldn't know it though, according to some people, who always ask me, "why don't you just use the dishwasher?"  I'll tell you why.  I find it preposterous that, in order to load dishes into a machine which is supposed to clean and rinse dishes, that they must be washed first in the sink.  I refuse to use such an inefficient machine. Machines, especially ones which use valuable energy, ought to make it worth their energy consumption by performing a task that is so difficult for me to do, or so disgusting, that I choose not to do it myself.  But, when I can outperform the machine, why waste the time and money?  I just don't get it.

As wasteful as it might be, I am very thankful for the automated washing machine at this point in my life, because in a few months, I will be using it all the time.  Babies make a lot of waste, it's easy to catch the waste in cloth, then you must wash it and dry it before it can be used all over again.  So let's hope all my years of conserving everything, including water, can make up for my future of mechanized cleaning.

Keeping in touch with South Africa

While in service, some fellow PCVs and I always mused about why volunteers who left their posts in South Africa would still keep in touch with us remaining volunteers.  The general consensus is that they weren't really satisfied with life in the States, and still partially longed to be back in South Africa.  Those who were ready to leave the country and get back to life in the developed world found what they were looking for, and rarely, if ever, kept in touch with anyone who remained.

Now that I find myself "one of those" who has left the country, whether I like it or not, I am in the new category.

I always think it is neat when the friends I made kept in touch with me, whether they were PCVs, co-workers, high school pals, or something else.  So many times I received the, "oh, I meant to send you a letter but it's still on my desk" kind of response.   Sorry, but good intentions are only that, and they don't really count.  Actions are what matter most.  Receiving a piece of mail, e-mail update or facebook post from someone was especially welcomed while I was in service. 

Maybe I am still in a "transition period" or something, but I still feel quite connected to my fellow PCV friends in South Africa, and like to keep in touch; both PCV friends, and South African ones.  I enjoy reading blog posts, Facebook updates, occasional country news, and e-mails from my Country Director and other officers in the field.  Does that mean I am not fulfilled in my current life in the US of A?  Not in the least.  I am busy making birth plans, researching moving companies and expenses, planning trips to visit friends and family, spending quality time with my nephew and keeping up with household chores and exercise.  It's given me a new perspective, to be on the "other side of the fence."

pregnancy updates...III or IV?

So I arrived safely in the states last Monday, May something or other.  2011.  Staying in NC with my family, getting settled, making birth plans, and hopefully going to visit family I haven't seen in about 2 years.

A big year for me!  Number one, I will be turning 30.  The big 3-0.  My fellow volunteer friend Casandra will enjoy her 30th in South Africa really soon, and I wonder what she will do to celebrate.  Hopefully something fun.  I will most likely be giving birth, or will have just done so. I imagine my celebrating will be different than all adult birthdays come before, much milder and less alcoholic in nature as I don't want to poison the little one.  But more excitingly, number two, the little one!

I found out I was pregnant on Dec 23, so that means for all of 2011, I have been preparing for the arrival of my first child.  Most of this time has been in South Africa with daddy, but as lovely as that was, it's really great to spend the last trimester in the States.  Here, I am a 20 minute drive away from several hospitals, doctors offices of many varieties, 2 hours from the nearest birthing center, with nearby Lamaze and other supportive classes.  In SA, the nearest hospital any local recommended was 250k (about 2 hours driving time in a private car or 3 hour taxi ride away) from us, and we didn't have a car.  Classes for expecting new parents were only available in a dream, and books only in Afrikaans (a language I don't speak) from the local library. 

Even though I wasn't excited about leaving SA and my fiancee, now that I'm here, I see that was the best decision, for many reasons.  My mom and sister, especially, are really supportive; both emotionally and financially.  I can find a doula (birthing coach and support person), choose a hospital (my pregnancy is considered high-risk because of the blood clots, therefore I do not qualify for home birth or birthing center, unfortunately), and I joined my local La Leche League for breastfeeding support.  I am planning to take Lamaze classes, or some other type of natural pain-management programme because I'd love to have a drug-free birth.  I also plan to sign up for as many other parenting or health classes as I can.  Knowledge is power!  None of this was available in SA, and with the time drawing more near, it seems really important to take care of business rather than just leaving it all to chance.

I'm about 6 months along, and in the last few days, the thing has been moving like crazy.  It's really quite strange, but comforting to know that it's still alive.  In the last 3 weeks or so, I've really started getting bigger, and feeling that weight in my lower back.  I can still sleep or lay on my stomach, but sort of augmented by a leg out, or weight shifted more to one side.  I'm eating several small meals or snacks throughout the day, and not having heartburn or much digestive trouble as a result. 

Every woman has a different experience regarding pregnancy, both emotionally and physically.  I find it really interesting that my younger sister, who is due one week before me with her first child, is very "lovey dovey" and seemingly emotionally attached to her little one, and the idea of being a mother.  She talks to her unborn baby, stares at it, posts photos, and seems to anticipate each new change as if it were the greatest thing since sliced bread (if you consider sliced bread to be all that great to begin with.)  I, on the other hand, feel much more scientific about the experience.  I have done a bit of research, am glad the organs are of normal size, want to breastfeed because it's healthy, and feel more of a detached interest than she.  I never really felt "maternal" or that I necessarily wanted to be a mom like some ladies I know.  I hate shopping, and an excess of things, so I haven't and won't go pick out matching baby stuff, or decorate with baby ducks or pastel colors or any of that stuff I imagine my sister doing.  She wants my mom there for her delivery and aftercare of the baby, and I am glad my mom will be occupied elsewhere.  She's emotional and I imagine my delivery going much more smoothly without people freaking out in the background. 

In some ways, I feel like breaking the leg and living abroad in a rural village have both prepared me pretty well for this new journey.  Both were really painful experiences at times, both have taught me that you don't earn anything without working hard, and that you need other people's help to survive.  But most importantly, the lesson to take away from those times is to not sweat the small stuff.  The big hurdles need your energy, and just enjoy the rest of it.  So, I shall try.