Why do all Peace Corps volunteers dress like they are homeless? I have been asked this question a few times; most recently by a middle class, white South African. At the time, i chuckled along with her, recognizing the comment to be based on truth, and then the conversation drifted elsewhere.
I suppose i forgot all about it until a few weeks ago, when i arrived once again in country. This time, however, i am not a volunteer and looked forward to wearing clothes that were a little more fashionable, maybe a little jewelry and occasional makeup. Well, it didn't take long for me to remember why i used to dress like i was a step above homeless- i received so much attention, especially from men. So much negative attention, in fact, that after the fourth day of enduring it, i decided then and there that it was back to frumpville for me. Unless i am to be in the company of a man the entire time i am in town, i now wear t-shirts and scrub pants, a headscarf and no makeup. So far, my plan has worked.
Especially when i first arrived at post, just by nature of my position, i attracted a lot of attention. Not all of it was negative, but coming from the States, i was used to privacy. People do not openly stare, make comments, ask questions or leer at you on a regular basis. Here, that is pretty normal, and could be very overwhelming, especially after a stressful week at school, language barriers or breakdowns in communication, donkeys eating your garden, or whatever the case may be.
Although South African society in general does value sharp dressing, those living in villages often cannot support this lifestyle and thus dress in torn, ripped and ill-fitting clothing. Peace Corps volunteers do not live far above this income bracket, either, on the measley stipend. So, dressing like this, some might say homeless, is a nice way to blend in with our neighbors. It also acts as a theft deterrent. Sort of. We are always targets wherever we go, no matter how we dress, what we have or don't have; firstly because we are white, and secondly because we are American. Truly, having white skin in this country means everyone else thinks you are rich. This is probably another reason for the unwanted sexual attention.
I don't flatter myself to think i am just that attractive that men swarm me like bees do a freshly blooming flower. They think i have money. And really, who doesn't want a sugar mama or daddy? Doing my best to stay under the proverbial radar makes my life, volunteer or civilian, so much easier.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Laws of attraction
One job i used to do but forgot about it until now, was writing love notes in english for young men whose first language is not english. This sounds really silly, but in reality, it is fun. The poems are short, things that translate well via sms and that aren't too deep or personal. It gives me a chance to make up simple rhymes, to play with stanzas and rhyme schemes, really simple literary poetic devices.
I like to write about things that inspire me, and mostly those things are found in nature: birdsong, rain, clouds, wind, you get the idea. Teasing with words stimulates the mind, which is the most erogenous zone, in my opinion. I wonder, though, why people aren't swooning over poets like the used to; or did they used to?
Biologically, i understand a woman choosing a strong, muscley mate so her offspring have a good chance of prospering. But how many of us, living in an enlightened society, are swayed that heavily by biology? I believe my choice was influenced somewhat biologically, but intellectually and emotionally, there is a stronger case. In the villages here among the baTswana, mates are often chosen solely for material possessions. If a man can give a lady money, clothes, airtime or food, he is the one. Bengalis hardly ever marry for love; their spouses are chosen by parents and horoscope chart readers. Among my American friends, however, mate selection is a much more complicated affair.
I know people who married young and either divorced or are still hashing it out. I know many single people, many of whom wish they were not. I also know some happy couples. It seems rare, though, for first marriages or serious relationships to be successful. People don't know what they don't want until they find it. For me, this is the interesting part of life, the trial and error, the why not adventures. They teach you a lot about yourself, as well as helping you figure out what kind of person works best with you. I am glad to come from a society that affords individuals this luxury, and even supports it. Otherwise, how would i have inspiration and experience to write my poems? ;-)
I like to write about things that inspire me, and mostly those things are found in nature: birdsong, rain, clouds, wind, you get the idea. Teasing with words stimulates the mind, which is the most erogenous zone, in my opinion. I wonder, though, why people aren't swooning over poets like the used to; or did they used to?
Biologically, i understand a woman choosing a strong, muscley mate so her offspring have a good chance of prospering. But how many of us, living in an enlightened society, are swayed that heavily by biology? I believe my choice was influenced somewhat biologically, but intellectually and emotionally, there is a stronger case. In the villages here among the baTswana, mates are often chosen solely for material possessions. If a man can give a lady money, clothes, airtime or food, he is the one. Bengalis hardly ever marry for love; their spouses are chosen by parents and horoscope chart readers. Among my American friends, however, mate selection is a much more complicated affair.
I know people who married young and either divorced or are still hashing it out. I know many single people, many of whom wish they were not. I also know some happy couples. It seems rare, though, for first marriages or serious relationships to be successful. People don't know what they don't want until they find it. For me, this is the interesting part of life, the trial and error, the why not adventures. They teach you a lot about yourself, as well as helping you figure out what kind of person works best with you. I am glad to come from a society that affords individuals this luxury, and even supports it. Otherwise, how would i have inspiration and experience to write my poems? ;-)
Friday, January 28, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Good eats
My first attempt at enjoying some local North Carolinian cuisine, called barbecue, was rather disappointing. From the parking lot, the place reminded me of a seedy strip club, or a sad cafe. Old Hickory did not let me down once I sat down to order, either. The atmosphere was as depressing as most of the diners; that is to say, middle aged, overweight and quiet. The server was friendly and helpful, but the food was lackluster. The fried food was too greasy and not fully cooked. The meat was not dry, but it was not very flavorful, either. A big BLAH. This event happened shortly after my arrival, where my expectations were not so high, but I was rather excited to be eating "American cuisine" again after 18 months of going without. Not to say that American cuisine is typically that amazing or healthy, but it is the food I grew up eating, for better or for worse, and I missed it. I knew that there had to be better barbecue out there, so I knew the search must continue.
Growing up in Oklahoma, which is kind of Southern, kind of Great Plains-ey and kind of something else, there was a lot of barbecue; both the event, which we used to describe cooking outside (interchangeably with the phrase "cookout") and the food that emerged from said events. As far as I knew, barbecue could describe baloney, beef, chicken, hamburgers, hot dogs, pork, sausages, or vegetables. My mom made "barbecue chicken" in the oven and smothered the meat with "barbecue sauce." Apparently, in North Carolina, barbecue has a much more serious and specific connotation.
So far, at both restaurants which I have eaten barbecue, the definition of and description of "barbecue" is printed at the front of the menu. It refers only to the meat, not the method, in which the beast (namely pork shoulder) is smoked slowly with local wood. The accompanying sauce is vinegar-based, which distinguishes it from other schools of barbecue, such as the Memphis or Kansas City varieties. Another commonality is that popular side dishes to accompany the meat are hush puppies, slaw, and something called "Brunswick Stew." I am a fan of hush puppies and vinegar slaw, as these are the usual side dishes at a fish fry, where the local lake catches (in Oklahoma these are usually bass, catfish or crappie) are gutted, filleted, and dredged in a cornmeal batter and deep fried. My grandma always included diced jalapenos in our hush puppies, so I prefer some heat with mine, whereas the North Carolina varieties seem to be a little sweeter. Nevertheless, I found a hushpuppy or two an adequate starch for a pile of smoked meat, instead of a large baked potato or gigantic white flour yeast roll, which I was expecting from my Oklahoma eating days. The cooling, crunchy vinegar slaw was a nice texture variant to the soft meat. Ah, yes, the meat!
R&R restaurant served up a very tender, subtly smoky barbecued pork shoulder that was chopped, but not to smithereenes. The two sauces, which the diner adds for herself, were a straight vinegar (at least I think so) and a vinegary sauce that reminded me very much of the Arby-Q, except not as thick. One could experiment and try the meat as is, with one sauce, or with both. I found both sauces were good, alternatively, and the meat was good just by itself. The tea was freshly brewed, and the sides were piping hot. Apparently the homemade banana pudding is "to die for," but if I am to try dessert it must be on a separate occasion with a cup of coffee, and not after enjoying a small pile of meat.
I don't feel I can begin to rate the barbecue on a scale, because I don't know how high or low the rabbit hole of the cuisine goes. But, based on what I know of good food, this place earns a 3.5 out of 5. So far, anyway.
Growing up in Oklahoma, which is kind of Southern, kind of Great Plains-ey and kind of something else, there was a lot of barbecue; both the event, which we used to describe cooking outside (interchangeably with the phrase "cookout") and the food that emerged from said events. As far as I knew, barbecue could describe baloney, beef, chicken, hamburgers, hot dogs, pork, sausages, or vegetables. My mom made "barbecue chicken" in the oven and smothered the meat with "barbecue sauce." Apparently, in North Carolina, barbecue has a much more serious and specific connotation.
So far, at both restaurants which I have eaten barbecue, the definition of and description of "barbecue" is printed at the front of the menu. It refers only to the meat, not the method, in which the beast (namely pork shoulder) is smoked slowly with local wood. The accompanying sauce is vinegar-based, which distinguishes it from other schools of barbecue, such as the Memphis or Kansas City varieties. Another commonality is that popular side dishes to accompany the meat are hush puppies, slaw, and something called "Brunswick Stew." I am a fan of hush puppies and vinegar slaw, as these are the usual side dishes at a fish fry, where the local lake catches (in Oklahoma these are usually bass, catfish or crappie) are gutted, filleted, and dredged in a cornmeal batter and deep fried. My grandma always included diced jalapenos in our hush puppies, so I prefer some heat with mine, whereas the North Carolina varieties seem to be a little sweeter. Nevertheless, I found a hushpuppy or two an adequate starch for a pile of smoked meat, instead of a large baked potato or gigantic white flour yeast roll, which I was expecting from my Oklahoma eating days. The cooling, crunchy vinegar slaw was a nice texture variant to the soft meat. Ah, yes, the meat!
R&R restaurant served up a very tender, subtly smoky barbecued pork shoulder that was chopped, but not to smithereenes. The two sauces, which the diner adds for herself, were a straight vinegar (at least I think so) and a vinegary sauce that reminded me very much of the Arby-Q, except not as thick. One could experiment and try the meat as is, with one sauce, or with both. I found both sauces were good, alternatively, and the meat was good just by itself. The tea was freshly brewed, and the sides were piping hot. Apparently the homemade banana pudding is "to die for," but if I am to try dessert it must be on a separate occasion with a cup of coffee, and not after enjoying a small pile of meat.
I don't feel I can begin to rate the barbecue on a scale, because I don't know how high or low the rabbit hole of the cuisine goes. But, based on what I know of good food, this place earns a 3.5 out of 5. So far, anyway.
Monday, December 27, 2010
a long december
I, for one, am glad this year is almost over. It's been a long December. I haven't been one for New Year's Resolutions for the last few years, but I am really looking forward to 2011. Each year has been getting better and better, minus a few road bumps (or parking humps, if you prefer), and I have no doubts about the following one as well.
Current plans: look into volunteering at the local library, vehicle hunt, take an art class, continue with copious medical appointments, and test as many North Carolina barbecue joints as possible. I've only been to one establishment and it was a total dud. Look forward for some food reviews coming soon...
Current plans: look into volunteering at the local library, vehicle hunt, take an art class, continue with copious medical appointments, and test as many North Carolina barbecue joints as possible. I've only been to one establishment and it was a total dud. Look forward for some food reviews coming soon...
Sunday, December 12, 2010
party pooper
Pity party pooper, that is. How good does it feel to finally be out of the pity party? I asked a friend of mine the same question just the other day, after she posted how she was finally happy, after 17 long months, just by changing her attitude.
For five long weeks, I saw myself in the likes of Frida Kahlo, Lieutenant Dan and Dr. House. In lots of pain, with a leg that doesn't work, embittered, jaded and unable to see any light at the end of the ever-lengthening tunnel. I was lugging myself around on crutches, and more recently, scooting up and down the stairs on my bum. Well, as of two days ago, I can use that bum leg. That has really helped to change my attitude about my leg, my health, my surroundings, and life in general. Instead of being pissed off about leaving South Africa earlier than I planned, I am now cherishing every moment I get to spend with my family, and the technology that allows me to talk to South Africa every day. Instead of missing my Northern Cape birds, desert landscape and heat, I am getting to know the North Carolina varieties and am happy for all the warm clothes my sister owns. I am no Pollyanna, but at least I am not Oscar the Grouch anymore.
Many people have commented that things happen for a reason. That's kind of a dumb platitude, but I tend to agree with it nonetheless. Or rather, I choose to agree with it. I'd like to think me breaking my leg has less to do with chance and more to do with the grand scheme of life. Perhaps karma caught up with me? Maybe there is a fabulous money making opportunity just kilometers away. Maybe my nephew was getting tired of Elmo and needed some Morrissey in his life? Who knows.
During my convalescence at the guest house in Pretoria, I met some amazing people; all fellow injured Peace Corps volunteers, but from other countries in Africa. There were a menagerie of injuries represented, from appendicitis to broken bones and even a mental meltdown. Between us all, we represented one whole person and could manage shopping, cooking, drinking and lots of talking. It was uplifting to be able to help other injured people, to hear their stories and even see some of their photos. When you realize you aren't the only person who has ever been hurt so far away from "home" and that "home" can be anywhere you make it, your pity part becomes less appealing.
For five long weeks, I saw myself in the likes of Frida Kahlo, Lieutenant Dan and Dr. House. In lots of pain, with a leg that doesn't work, embittered, jaded and unable to see any light at the end of the ever-lengthening tunnel. I was lugging myself around on crutches, and more recently, scooting up and down the stairs on my bum. Well, as of two days ago, I can use that bum leg. That has really helped to change my attitude about my leg, my health, my surroundings, and life in general. Instead of being pissed off about leaving South Africa earlier than I planned, I am now cherishing every moment I get to spend with my family, and the technology that allows me to talk to South Africa every day. Instead of missing my Northern Cape birds, desert landscape and heat, I am getting to know the North Carolina varieties and am happy for all the warm clothes my sister owns. I am no Pollyanna, but at least I am not Oscar the Grouch anymore.
Many people have commented that things happen for a reason. That's kind of a dumb platitude, but I tend to agree with it nonetheless. Or rather, I choose to agree with it. I'd like to think me breaking my leg has less to do with chance and more to do with the grand scheme of life. Perhaps karma caught up with me? Maybe there is a fabulous money making opportunity just kilometers away. Maybe my nephew was getting tired of Elmo and needed some Morrissey in his life? Who knows.
During my convalescence at the guest house in Pretoria, I met some amazing people; all fellow injured Peace Corps volunteers, but from other countries in Africa. There were a menagerie of injuries represented, from appendicitis to broken bones and even a mental meltdown. Between us all, we represented one whole person and could manage shopping, cooking, drinking and lots of talking. It was uplifting to be able to help other injured people, to hear their stories and even see some of their photos. When you realize you aren't the only person who has ever been hurt so far away from "home" and that "home" can be anywhere you make it, your pity part becomes less appealing.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
The end?
Is it coincidental that the end of my volunteer service with the peace corps lines up with thanksgiving? I want to reflect on the things i am thankful for, highlight major lessons learned and things that happened. Maybe in the near future, i will be able to do this, but right now, i cannot. I can bend my knee 100 degrees, make my way to the kitchen and slowly prepare something to eat. I have to stop and rest after a few minutes. My days consist of blood testing, physio therapy, the odd paper gathering and question asking. Worries about a visa, short-term health and my future are looming. My family can't wait for me to return, but i am less than excited. It's not what i planned, to break my leg and leave south africa before my time. Why am i upset?
I am staying in a cozy guest house with running water, helpful staff, other injured volunteers and free breakfast every day. I have all my medical needs taken care of, and even transportation provided by my organization. But i would trade it in a heartbeat for my house in the Kalahari with the tin roof, resident bat, harsh sun and wind, and batswana neighbors. My language barriers, overworked and undermotivated colleagues, lazy municipalities, lack of funding and physical challenges seem like a dream compared to this current life, with television and air conditioning.
I miss my weekend visits from my sweetheart, my daily visits from kids in the village, going to school to face whatever new challenges arose that week. I miss my friend in my village, the one person i could share secrets and my lunch with, and she could appreciate both.
I miss being a helpful, valuable asset to my communities, and my fellow peace corps volunteers. I guess that's what is so upsetting. Now, instead of helping lots of people do lots of different things, i can barely even help myself. I've never been so helpless or hopeless. It's hard to imagine being able to walk again, to not be apart from my sweetie, or what will happen in the next few days, even. But i'm trying. Life threw me a big curveball, and even though i tripped and fell, i try not to stay down for too long at one time.
I am staying in a cozy guest house with running water, helpful staff, other injured volunteers and free breakfast every day. I have all my medical needs taken care of, and even transportation provided by my organization. But i would trade it in a heartbeat for my house in the Kalahari with the tin roof, resident bat, harsh sun and wind, and batswana neighbors. My language barriers, overworked and undermotivated colleagues, lazy municipalities, lack of funding and physical challenges seem like a dream compared to this current life, with television and air conditioning.
I miss my weekend visits from my sweetheart, my daily visits from kids in the village, going to school to face whatever new challenges arose that week. I miss my friend in my village, the one person i could share secrets and my lunch with, and she could appreciate both.
I miss being a helpful, valuable asset to my communities, and my fellow peace corps volunteers. I guess that's what is so upsetting. Now, instead of helping lots of people do lots of different things, i can barely even help myself. I've never been so helpless or hopeless. It's hard to imagine being able to walk again, to not be apart from my sweetie, or what will happen in the next few days, even. But i'm trying. Life threw me a big curveball, and even though i tripped and fell, i try not to stay down for too long at one time.
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