Welcome to my garden...

When I returned to site after a 10-day absence, I was more than a bit afraid to visit the community garden. While I was gone, there was a torrential rain and the weeds had literally grown 4 feet high.



Right before I had left for training, the community-garden manager had “gifted me” with my very own two plots. I received this gift reluctantly because, well, I feel more than a bit daunted at the task. (Remember, I’m lazy and don’t like to work hard. Work hard, like dig.)



We had had a conversation about dormant plots. What happened when a garden plot became untended, weed-infested, and unmanageable? Well, he told me that the plot would be “sprayed” (with poisonous herbicide) so the foliage and weeds would die. The plot would then lie fallow for several months before planting. (So the poison could be safely “washed” away.)



Ick! was my thoughful response, although I didn't say it out loud.



I asked him if we might try a “deep mulching” method instead. I explained that since the plot would lie fallow for months anyway, could I cover a plot or two with deep mulch, which would smother and kill the weeds but also add important amendment to the soil? (And thereby avoid any use of poison in the garden.)



He agreed. He was so excited that he had some friends bring a truckload of mulch to the plot the very next day. This was the same day I would be leaving for training. I was somewhat worried when I saw that the mulch was spread very thinly and nothing at all like the deep mulch necessary for smothering weeds. I made a note to attend to his plot first thing on my return.



(In theory, you need a layer of 10 centimeters or more—oh my gosh! Did I actually USE the metric system!!—in order to cover the ground well enough to smother the weeds. He had lain about 1 centimeter worth of mulch. In America, we would need 6-8 inches of deep mulch, and in comparison, he had down about half an inch.)



And, the first thing he said to me, on my return, was “The mulch is not working.”  :-)



So, this weekend, I continued the process of applying a deep mulch to his plot.



I was also disheartened to see that the college lawn workers had burned the yard waste instead of saving it for me. No matter! There is plenty enough yard waste to go around. I found these lovely, lovely grass clippings instead!



Back home, I’ve raided my neighbors’ recycling-day piles, nabbing bags of clippings and leaves to carry home to my own garden. I’m shameless!



So, the top photo is of his plot and you can see where I’ve added grass clippings. My plots lie directly behind his, in the background. And the photo on the left is a photo of my plots. Depressing, isn’t it? :-)



No matter. I figure it took me a whole weekend to properly mulch one plot and will take three more to have all four plots covered with deep mulch.



(At my best guestimate, the whole garden consists of about 200 plots. We have about ten active gardeners, which leaves a WHOLE LOT of plots that are only weeds. Weeds going to seed. Depressing.)

The above photo is of a typical garden plot in our community garden. Notice the trenched bed (sits low within a trench wall surrounding to help hold in water) with no mulching. Also notice all of the weeds growing around it. The next one illustrates how high the weeds have grown in two weeks. Welcome to my nightmare.

Apparently, this is a common problem in all community gardens, that some people do what they are supposed to—keep the garden plots clean, and some people do not—they let theirs go to seed/weeds.

The above photo is of the plot I had mulched the  woman's tomato patch.  Can you tell which which half was mulched and which was not? (The photo is not great; think in terms of lower left and upper right.)  I removed the mulch at her request; it was heartbreaking.

The good news is that my compost is sprouting. The one pile has a happy watermelon vine sprouting up and out. The other pile seems to have a whole variety of sprouting going on.



I’m not sure if they have the hybridized seed here in South Africa, so I’m not sure if the fruit will form true to seed. Should I pull them, or let them grow? What do you guys think?



(The pointy palm frond thingys are supposed to deter the goats.  It seems to be doing the trick.)



And then below are some favorite shots of things growing both in the garden and around it. I love the bean blossoms; I love the grasses; I love the dainty, I-don’t- know- what but remind me of bluets; and I love the eggplants I’m tending for a fellow gardener. They call eggplants brinjas here. (It's an Afrikaaners word, actually.)  These are the ones I’ve applied an earth-friendly pesticide to, a stinky concoction of onions and garlic that has been soaked in water overnight then applied, and the plants are doing much better.

Back to work!

Soon, Karen

Why we're here... The state education in South Africa

Hey, this is a group shot from our "Swearing-In" ceremony back in September.

Aren't we a fine looking bunch?



So many have asked: Why are you needed in South Africa? Isn't it a wealthy nation with plenty of resources?



Well...



I wondered the same thing. But I've learned.



(I'm getting ready to recklessly spout off, so to any of my fact-lovers, please feel free to correct me at any time!)



In 1994, Nelson Mandela (and others) brought democracy to South Africa. One of his priorities was improving the quality of education for all South Africans. His goal was daunting, when you think of how the South African democracy has come in behind: almost 50 years of Apartheid.



So, from 1948 to 1994, the severity of segregation between South Africans had a huge impact on the education system. Unfortunately, black South Africans were given a very, very low quality education. How low was the quality? The following is from Alistar Sparks' The Mind of South Africa:









Verwoerd explaining to Parliament in 1953:



(Verwoerd served as Prime Minister to South African from 1958 until his assassination in 1966; he is often called, "The Architect of Apartheid)







Education for blacks should not clash with government policy, he said, and should “not create wrong expectations on the part of the Native himself.” Then, he went on:







Racial relations cannot improve if the wrong type of education is given to Natives. They cannot improve if the result of the Native education is the creation of frustrated people who, as a result of the education they received, have expectations in life which circumstances in South Africa do not allow to be fulfilled immediately, when it creates people trained for professions not open to them, when there are people who have received a form of cultural training which strengthens their desire for the white collar occupations to such an extent that there are more such people than openings available.







Blacks inevitably saw this as education for inferiority, and their view was substantiated by the disparity in state expenditure on schooling for the different races. In 1953, the year of the Bantu Education Act, the government spent $180 on each white child in school compared with $25 on each black child. Many of the best black teachers quit rather than participate in an educational system designed, as they saw it, to condition young members of their race for am inferior station in life, and this contributed still further to the decline of black education. This perception of calculated inferiority, indeed of bending young minds to an acceptance of inferiority, made education one of the most explosive grievances in the black community, and it provided the spark for both the 1976 student uprising in Soweto and, to a somewhat lesser degree, the great national convulsion that shook South Africa in the 1980s. (196)



Ok, this kind of sets the stage, huh?



So, when Nelson Mandela (and others) set about to reform the South African education system, they had almost 50 years of extremely low-quality education to deal with and the entrenched mindsets that go along with it. South Africa has had three generations of poor quality teaching in the rural areas of South Africa and the educators teaching in South Africa today (or at least the ones over the age of 30), received the poor-quality training under the "Bantu Education Act."



While the South African Department of Education has developed a very good curriculum (in my opinion), the current educators have had little guidance in implementing it. Most educators seem overwhelmed with the new curriculum, having been "teaching the same way" for 30 or more years, and are reluctant to change. (And who isn't reluctant to change?)



The changes in the education system have proved exceedingly difficult.



Enter Peace Corps.



In the late nineties, Bill Clinton and Nelson Mandela worked to bring Peace Corps volunteers into the South African education system to assist South African educators with the new curriculum. And that is why we are here.



For the past ten years, Peace Corps volunteers have been working with the South African education system. My group, however, is the first group allowed to actually teach within the schools. (In former years, the volunteers weren't allowed to teach because the unions argued for South African teaching jobs; now the teacher shortage is in such a crisis that volunteers are allowed to actually teach classes.)



Which is what I'm doing—teaching in South African schools.



When I first arrived in South Africa, I was terrified at the thought of teaching my own classes and hoped to work only as an advisor to the South African teachers in the schools I was assigned. (I’ve taught only on the college level in the States and I chose to work at this level because I suck at classroom management. A roomful of 35 South African sixth graders? NO WAY!)



However, I'd become so frustrated in trying to work with the educators (frustrated in a nice way), that I decided, "What the heck, give me some classes so at least I'll have something to do!" This tactic has worked out well because by actually teaching in the classroom, I've a way to relate with and work with the teachers of my schools.



But my teaching here is not without its frustrations. It is now February 5. Classes actually started on Jan 11 (for the college) and Jan 13 (for the primary school).



The largest frustration is trying to help both the primary school and the college to develop a teaching schedule that serves both, keeps me somewhat sane, and has no conflict. I suggested that I teach at the college in the mornings (so that I could attend the college’s morning staff meetings) and the primary school in the afternoons (so that I could attend the primary school’s afternoon staff meetings).



I want to do after school work with both the college and the primary school, but I thought we could work on that later.



This seemed like a reasonable solution to me. Silly me!



To complicate matters, we were pulled out of school during the second week of school for a Peace Corps training. I taught exactly 4 classes at the primary school before leaving for training. The college, while officially in session, was still registering students.



(In the US, registration for college semesters happens well in advance--like six months! To register for a term in South Africa, you wait until the first day of class, so it seems.)



Before I had left for training, the primary school's teaching schedule had changed at least three times and was in the process of changing again as I left for training.



I hoped things would settle down when I returned. Silly me!



So, I returned to class on Monday, I learned that my half-hour session of 6th grade English at the primary school would be cancelled because of preparation for an "athletics" session to follow on Tuesday. I would have no teaching sessions at the primary school on Monday or Tuesday. (All that planning for nothing.) On the other hand, this would free me for teaching my first class at the college on Tuesday.



On Tuesday, I went to class on time, but none of my students did, a trend that would realize all week.



On Wednesday, I couldn't teach at the college because I was supposed to be at the primary school at the same time. I went to teach two, half-hour sessions of 6th grade English at the primary school. On this day, I brought home with me seventy 6th grade English exams to grade.



I graded 35 of the exams Wednesday night to return to on section of the 6th graders on Thursday, to which I would find that classes were cancelled due to a memorial service.



(While at training, my village suffered a terrible storm with severe flooding. One of our 7th graders drowned while swimming in some of the floodwater.)



And of course, none of my college kids showed up to class on Thursday either.



On Thursday, after the memorial service for the learner that was killed, I went with my colleagues to another educator's house for condolences, as she has lost a grandchild in the night. After this visit, I went home to grade the other 35 exams for my 6th graders.



(Perhaps because I don’t now reside with a South African family, I have yet to attend a funeral service. Most of the other volunteers have witnessed many funerals and tomb-stone unveilings. I have a feeling that in 2010, I will attend more funerals in one year than I have my whole life.)



This morning, Friday, I went to my college class and yet again, no one showed. I hurried to the primary school for my 6th grade class, only to realize that I misunderstood the schedule and I had arrived late and missed a whole period.



EISH!



Next week is another week.



Ke a leka. (kay uh lay kuh.) (I am trying.)



Soon, Karen

Christmas in January, part two

Just a note to let everyone know that I've received a second round of xmas packages. Actually, I put my hands on these before leaving for my training on Jan 22. They patiently awaited my return for opening, so I had quite a treat when I returned.

I received a lovely package from my mom. In it were treats from my Grandma and my mom's friend, Teen. I received more in ways of dental care--yum! I also received a variety of stickers for my sixth-graders, note cards for my "thank you’s," teabags, wet naps, alcohol wipes (for germy hands), nail files, band aids, antibiotic ointment, and dresses!



My wardrobe has expanded significantly. During training there was a "clothing swap," and I inherited three tops and a dress. Also, my mom has sent me a lovely embroidered jumper and a denim skirt. Both the South Africans and the Peace Corps volunteers were very happy to see my wardrobe increase and to have a bit of color added. Everyone, it seems, is sick of me wearing brown. But I still contend, if I can't eat chocolate, I can wear it!!



Anyway, thanks Mom, Grandma, and Teen!



My friend Leila sent me a lovely, lovely picture calendar of my favorite place on earth: Kentucky! I'm sure I'll disassemble it as the months go by and share the lovely images with my "kids." I love it! Thank you Leila!



My dad and his wife, Darlene, sent me a fun package. I had a great shot of the contents that I've somehow lost. Darlene gets the prize for the "most creatively padded package" award! I was going to have you guys guess what the padding was in the now-lost-photo. (Ladies, you'd recognize it in a second; guys, maybe not.) But here too, I got lovely dental goodies, a selection of Burt's Bees, a personalized calendar with family photos, a lovely xmas card and more stickers for the kiddos. What a treat! Thank you!



I also had a stack of letters that had somehow accumulated in my sometimes mail logjam. I haven't yet opened them all, but one dear friend, Pat, sent me a lovely, lovely prayer. It is an examen Prayer of St. Ignatius to be prayed at night before retiring. It is suggested as a way to "put the day to rest" and focuses on gratitude. I tried it last night and it moved me to tears. I love it already.



I strongly believe in the power of prayer because I have seen it evidenced over and over again.



I must admit that returning home to my site after training wasn't as happy as happy as my return from visiting other PC volunteers at Christmas. I've had a rough week with coming home after living a "first world" existence in training (comfortable, well-fed, living with people that spoke my language, riding in safe, reliable transportation, etc.) and trying to readjust again to my "third world" existence. My re-entry is further aggravated with trying to launch my classes. Both the primary school and at the college have quite settled my teaching schedule, so I never really know where, when, and what I’ll be teaching. And when I do know the where, when, and what, either the students don’t show (the college) or the schedule has been changed and I won’t be teaching my classes after all (primary school).



Eish! (A Setswana expression for "Yikes!" which is pronounced A-Esh!)



Anyway, I've been feeling quite blue, torn between pillar and post, and not yet feeling welcomed back into my community.



So, I prayed the St. Ignatius prayer last night. Today, on my way home from the primary school, my fellow gardeners were gathered around our few peach trees harvesting the peaches for market. They called to me and offered me peaches. As these are the gentlemen that I buy from, I expressed the fact that I hadn't any money with me. (Ga ke na madi. {Ha kay nah mah dee} Did I tell you I passed my Setswana test?)



They smiled really big and shrugged me off and began handing me armfuls of fresh peaches. I had bags with me, but they were full of papers needed to be graded. So I opened my umbrella and they filled it up.



And I am happy and grateful today to be living in South Africa. And will keep saying the prayer of St. Ignatius!

Soon, Karen

Pretoria Botanical Garden

Volunteers in our group travelled to Pretoria for our training so that we could gather in one large group to travel to our training site. Because we are so spread out in the provinces of the Northern Cape and the Northwest, for some it is a full day's journey. Add to the mix is the fact that some of us travelled to Pretoria a day early or stayed a day late to take care of Peace Corps business (medical or other kinds of appointments, etc.). In my case, I had just enough time to squeeze in a quick visit to Pretoria's Botanical Garden with fellow volunteer Marcia.

I had great expectations so was mildly disappointed. I had big hopes of seeing a baobab tree. I wasn't terribly surprised to not see one as I know I reside too far south in Africa to see them. I'll have to make a trip to Botswana to see one. (A trip to Botswana is feasible.)



Also, I had expected to see "flowers" in a botanical garden. However, we're in the middle of summer here in South Africa, so the blooming season, pretty much, is over.



Also, I hadn't realized how lucky I am to live so near an outstanding display of regional flora with Bernheim Forest, near Louisville, KY.



I did get to see a fever tree (Acacia xanthophloea), which is a second-in-line favorite (photo top right). I'm cheating here because I actually saw this one in Pretoria proper. There was a fever tree in the garden but we were being attacked by biting ants at the time and I couldn't stand still for a photo. I love these trees. The bark gives of a lime-green shimmer.







I've heard two accounts of the common name. One is that it's called "fever tree" because the bark was used as a cure for malaria; the other is that the trees typically grow where the malaria-carrying mosquitoes live.



Below the photo of the fever tree is a photo of the Ndebele-style buildings that housed the "medicinal plant" interpretive part of the Botanical Garden. Marcia and I both enjoyed reading about South African medicinal plants--and the buildings were neat too!



And the photo below the Ndebele village is of a protea (Protea cynaroides), I think. I had "lost" Marcia and was worried about finding her (typical of me) and couldn't find any signage. These lovely blossoms were growing on a large bush, in a way similar to how oleander grows.



Below is a photo of Marcia and me by a lovely, cool waterfall.



And the very bottom photo is of my favorite find of the day. Now, this guy is AMAZING. His common name is Elegant Grasshopper and I'm too tired to search for his Latin name. I LOVE HIM! I'm sure I'll learn to hate him very much because they're reputed to be very, very destructive in the garden.



I have more photos posted to my Facebook page at the following link (you need not be a Facebook member to access the photos):



http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=53142&id=1239371142&l=1d1a53ef30



It was a lovely afternoon. And Ms. Karen, who wears long sleeves and long pants in 120-degree heat because she doesn't want to burn her skin wore short sleeves, didn't take an umbrella (for shade), or sunscreen because the day was cool and overcast. Guess who was sunburned?



Soon, Karen

.  

Ndebele artist and In-service training

We spent the last weeks of January at a Peace Corps training. We trained at a different site, at a different teacher's college, located on the Limpopo/Mpumalanga border. (For security reasons, I'm not at liberty to say exactly where.)

The highlight for me was passing my Setswana language proficiency test. YAY! What a relief! Learning a new language is extremely difficult for me and I've been working very hard trying to learn the language, so I'm glad my hard work has paid off. I've actually advanced a whole level. I initially tested at "novice high" and tested this time at "intermediate high." (The Peace Corps needs us to test at least to the "intermediate low" level to "pass.")



Another bright point was a brief visit to my original host family. Our visit was on a Sunday, just an hour after my language test. As I was extremely focused on my language exam, I didn't think to prepare for a visit with my host family. Long story short: I forgot to take my camera, so I have no pictures of the visit. Drat!



Although we were advised the night before to call our host families to alert them to our visit, I did not. I was worried they would slaughter a cow and invite the whole village. So I showed up on their doorstep completely unannounced (which I'm told is perfectly acceptable in South African culture).



The first thing my host family said to me was, "Why didn't you call?" and "Where is your shawl?" :-)



When I stayed with my host family, it was during the winter months and I was always appropriately covered because, well, it was cold. We arrived this time in the summer months, and I had on a sleeveless blouse. I had forgotten that my host family acknowledges conservative values for women (head covered, shoulders covered, and sitting at a 90-degree angle on the floor with legs straight out). I asked to borrow a shawl. :-)



They were thrilled to see me, asked if I had brought bread (I had not), fed me, and made a special trip to the shop to buy a cold drink. As was my former habit when formally eating with them, I returned the chicken bones to the fridge to keep for the cat to eat later. There was NOTHING in their refrigerator. And a quick glance around told me that they had nothing to eat. They had probably spent their last ten rand for the cold drink.



After a very brief visit, two hours perhaps, I was off again, perhaps never to see them again. (I don't know if I will ever again return to the area.) I left them a bit of my "trip money" as a parting gift.  I hope it helped.



And yet another highlight was a couple of shopping trips to this wonderful Ndebele woman selling her bead craft. Isn't she wonderful?



I enjoyed the training this time around, perhaps because the worry of the language test was behind me. The ever-creative and resourceful volunteers hosted several fun events, including a prom (yes, a prom) and a talent show. They were great fun, and again, alas, I forgot my camera.

If you'd like to see more photos of our training trip, photos of both the site, the lovely trees and flowers, and my fellow volunteers, go to the following links.  (You need not be a Facebook member to see the photos.)

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=52783&id=1239371142&l=c0440d6e2c

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=53048&id=1239371142&l=d8e079a326



Soon, Karen

my new best friend

Many of you, and perhaps all of you, have heard of my horror story of a long journey on a public mini-bus. (I have so many interesting conversations: blog, Facebook, phone, email. I can never keep track of what I've said to whom. So sorry if you're suffering a repeat.)

The journey was long (4-5 hours), the driver young, and more than once during the ride, I felt I would die. It was a very uncomfortable five hours, and while I'm not one to "bargain" with god (If you let me live, I'll do this...", I did promise myself that if I survived, and if I could at all manage, I would never, ever subject myself to the risk of a long-distance mini-bus ride ever, ever again.



Hence, my new best friend. Meet Intercape. This bus line gets me where I'm going safely and comfortably. Not once did I worry about the driver playing chicken with on-coming traffic while passing at 80-miles-an-hour; not once did I worry about my ears bleeding because the music was so loud; not once did I worry that the driver was taking a curb at too-high a rate of speed; not once did I worry about the tires blowing out; not once did I worry about suffocating (the public, mini-bus taxis operate with closed windows and no air conditioning); not once did I worry that I would loose a limb due to a lack of circulation (the public mini-bus taxis are filled to overflowing and don't move until so filled . On my taxi ride back from shopping this weekend, there were 19 of us in a 15-seat van. I had been to town for groceries, as had everyone else. So imagine 19 people in a 15-seat van with at least 3 large bags of groceries each. Oh, and as it was pensioners day, and many were paid, meaning everyone on the mini-bus was drinking. And we're not talking Coca-colas here.)



When I boarded Intercape for my first ride, I almost cried. Not only would my travel be safe and comfortable, but when riding on the top deck, one feels like one is riding a Disney ride. I enjoyed every second--and arrived safely with all nerves and limbs intact.



Soon, Karen

bittersweet garden notes...

I'm back from training but am very busy with school. I have a lot to blog about but it will come in spurts until I can get caught up




The top two photos are my "before" photos of my herb bed. Good thing herbs like poor soil. The one on the right is some of the yard debris I've added to amend the soil. If I don't get good herbs this year, perhaps I will next.



The good news is that I've been "given" two garden plots of my own. I'm way excited. It is too late in the gardening season to plant any summer crops, but I'm hoping to "green manure" one (plant a legume or clover to "feed" the soil for next year) and add compost to the other to prepare for winter crops (leafy greens: kale, collards, etc.)



I'm so excited! This is the most "gardening space" I've ever had!



The bittersweet part is that the lady that allowed me to mulch a portion of her tomato patch has asked me to remove the mulch.



This may be for several reasons: native South Africans are terrified of snakes and stinging insects, so they sweep to remove yard debris and yard debris is burned rather than returned to the soil (so it makes sense to me that the mulching practice would also be shunned in the garden); the gentleman "in charge" of the community garden has frequently asked, "When will you be removing the mulch?", which makes me think that the community thinks the mulching is a temporary thing; and lastly, she (the lady indulging my mulching passion) may not be happy with the result. Her tomatoes have a blight or a mineral deficiency and all the mulching in the world won't save her tomatoes.



I removed the mulch and it was doing what it was supposed to: the bottom layer was black and crumbly and smelled sweet; I found a tiny, tiny earthworm (the first I've seen in the garden), and the weeds were kept at bay. I hated removing the mulch and know the root system now will be exposed to the burning hot sun.



Oh well. Perhaps I can "model" mulching in my new plots.



I've asked the college yardmen to "save" the yard debris for me, which is in the photo on the bottom on top, and which is why I'm smiling in the photo below. Can anyone say, "Biomass?"



When I asked for this added chore, I was well rested and eager to work. Now, I'm overwhelmed and exhausted, and can't imagine every having energy to do anything ever again. But I know I'll acclimate and will be itching to haul mulch again soon.



Again, lots to say, but am closing for now,



Karen