Settling In

Two weeks have gone by since I have arrived at Botshabelo. You know the feeling of time on a vacation? Time seems to be racing by, but then you have all these different memories that linger and slow things down. Is it fast or is it slow? I can't really tell. I can hardly remember what day it is.

I have had access to internet maybe three times. I’ve had about 5 minutes to figure out bank stuff, research how to make my phone work, and check my bank account… and to e-mail my Dad, promising I was alive. So, I apologize for not answering any e-mails.

Alright, I have a lot to talk about.

On January 18^th I arrived at 9:00pm at Botshabelo and everyone was asleep. I had been picked up in Johannesburg by two men from Botshabelo, Witness and Alfred. I did a money exchange at the airport to change my US currency to the South African Rand (R). I'll take pictures of it eventually, or just look it up. The money here is so cool because Nelson Mandela's face is on EVERYTHING. Like every coin, dollar, everything. Nelson Mandela, lions, elephants. It's the coolest currency I've ever seen.

Anyways, I got to my cabin and met my roommate, Niels. He is a carpenter from Holland that has come to Botshabelo for 6 months to start a carptentry school. He has a handful of students, mostly older boys, that he teaches. 

Here are pictures of our treehouse:

Niels and I have our own bedrooms and we share a bathroom. There is a large room in front where the kitchen is. We have a fridge, stove, oven, and coffee pot. The coffee pot is my favorite part of our kitchen. We make pretty good meals! 

The first day here they found a baby cobra in the pool. Botshabelo management (my boss, Marion) proceeded to get it out with a piece of bamboo. Before she flicked the snake into a bucket she called up to all of us around the pool watching, “If it bites me, remember you have 10 to 15 minutes to get me to the hospital before I die... that of course depends on how strong my heart is”. 

The second day after I arrived, a man from the village named Christmas died. He had full-blown AIDS and chose not to take medicine. He, instead, insisted on natural treatments only. They were carrying his body around the village when I woke up and had a memorial service for him in the evening. During the service everyone chanted and sang and shouted out memories. Literally, people would take turn screaming stories about him. The memorial service proceeded until 3 am. Then at 8am the next morning  they buried him in the Botshabelo cemetery. The cemetery here is positioned on the side of a mountain and when you get to the top you can see the entire Gaunteng province. I'll be sure to take pictures, because it's insanely beautiful.

After a few days in Botshabelo, the family that started Botshabelo (Marion, Con, their daughters Leigh, Nicole, and Shanna) took me on a hike up the mountain with the cemetery. When we reached the cemetery, we then sat around a pile of rocks called the ‘Wishing Pile’ and made wishes for each other, adding a new rock for each wish. It was a beautiful and intimate induction into the family and the village. I put one rock on the Wishing Pile to show my gratitude for my new family at Botshabelo and for the family I left in America. It felt good to be received.

Anyways, I think I’ll share some pictures of the kids. They are all really awesome. I’ve been able to learn a bunch of their names, but it’s incrediably hard. Their names are Zulu or Tswana, and pronouncing them is next to impossible, let alone memorizing them. Every now and then a kid has a Western name, and those are the ones I tend to remember the best. I found three little girls here named Leah, Jessica, and Katie. All names of friends back home! I took pictures of them for the American Leah, Jessica, and Katie to see.

Jessica on the left, Leah in the middle, Katie at the far right. They aren't even friends but I forced this picture and it looks adorable:

Ok, here are the kids at night. We were dancing and hanging out this past Saturday before bed and I got some cute pictures. Excuse the pictures, but they were taken in a dark dusty room:

Here are the kids playing after school. I'll also throw in swimming pictures and random Botshabelo shots:

Anyways, so far I have my work cut out for me. I have a couple projects I am going to be working on. First, Marion has me working on writing a grant for a new roof & floor for the school. I have to manually measure the roof this week… by myself. Also, she has me working on a genealogy project. Basically, we are going to create really elaborate genograms of the children here and travel around South Africa to track their families down. OH - I even have a client (which is not exactly my focus or study in social work, but I'm happy)! Unfortunately, I can’t really talk about her because of confidentiality reasons… but I promise, working with her is amazing! It’s exactly the type of work I want to do when I come home and look for a job.

What else…

Oh, the kids call me Christine (but they spell it ‘Christin’ on the drawings and letters they give me). Niels calls me Christina (he says he doesn’t like the name Christy). And the family calls me Christina or Christy depending on the situation. Sometimes the really little kids call me Christinie. Haha… also, the kids told me that if I ever need to take my tattoos off (they call them stickers) all I have to do is rub them with milk. One little girl named Lunca traces her fingers down the viens in my arm everyday. I am the first white person she's ever been really close to and she likes to inspect things. Sometimes when I’m not paying attention, the girls will make these super tiny braids in my hair that I only find when I’m in the shower trying to wash my hair. I end up just pulling chunks of hair out because the braids are so tight and small.

So... I thought that living in an all black township would be more difficult to adjust to, but I hardly notice. Well, until little things happen that remind me... like toddlers stroking my hair in amazement and kids picking at my freckles. But honestly, before I came to Botshabelo, I was ready to make this big cultural adjustment and I was prepared to get use to being one of the few white people around. The problem is, my anglo-saxon pastiness is hardly part of my personal identity, so I sort of forget I'm white. This is probably white privilege talking, but my indifference to my own color has basically left race a nonissue.

WAIT, I take that back. I remember I'm white when we dance.

In other news, this weekend I got severely dehydrated and had to take a little visit to the doctor/hospital. I don’t really know which it is because the sign outside the building just said ‘SURGERY’. Dr. Lawrence gave me electrolyte packets and nausea medicine and sent me on my way. I’m feeling much better now! 

Internet is expensive and scarce here, but I will do my best to do weekly updates! I miss everyone. I think about everyone before I go to sleep.

I love you all,

Christy