Absence makes the heart grow fonder? Yah?

Have you missed me, readers? (I'm still not convinced even five people read this... but in case I picked up any Afrikaaners, that "yah" was for you.)

I’ve been a terrible blogger, everyone, and it’s definitely not the first time. I really ought to post every evening after an interesting day, but it’s not a perfect world, and I’m not a perfect writer.

I’ve neglected my reporting for about three weeks or so (as you may or may not have noticed), leaving you all in the dark about my various adventures. There’s been a lot going on, too, all of which would make for really terrific blog stories. I’d like to pretend the delay was for dramatic effect, and thus totally purposeful… but I never really liked when TV did that cliffhanger malarkey at the end of an episode (Will Joey fall for Dawson or Pacey? Oh my gosh! This is terrible), so I’d never wittingly do that to my readers (and who am I kidding, I’m not nearly as fascinating as Dawson’s Creek). What’s my excuse, then? I’m just a lazy blogger.

Here’s a sub par summary of my free-time fabulousness:

Recently, a group of other volunteers and I managed a day trip down Cape Peninsula to take in the beautiful coastal views of Hout Bay, Cape Point, and Cape of Good Hope (Africa’s most southwesterly point). Picture the winding sea-cliff-side roads of car commercials: that’s where we were. The nature reserve is home to elands, baboons, and birds of all types, in addition to deserted, breath-taking beaches worthy of a Leonardo DiCaprio movie. We spent the afternoon hiking along cliffs between Cape Point and Good Hope, seizing the occasional break to rock climb here and there and frolic in the ridiculous surf --- all a warm-up for the epic ascent I rocked out (no pun intended) the very next day. Because you know how I roll.


Early the next morning, five of us rolled out of bed (mildly stiff from the day prior) to tackle Table Mountain on foot (instead of hopping the cable car like everyone else). Let me put it this way – the steep climb up was the most beautiful/scenic StairMaster I’ve ever committed to, and my thighs and hips haven’t felt the same since. My guide book refers to it as a sun-drenched “vertical slog,” if that gives you any indication. Long, rock-step lunges all…the way….up; but gosh, was it worth it. There’s no “safety precautions” to speak of around most of the mountain, so you can literally crawl out onto a hanging rock and be devoured by clouds on all sides, king or queen of the skies. After accomplishing the Platteklip Gorge trail on the city bowl side of the mountain, we hiked across the “table top” itself to ascend to the mountain’s highest point, passing truly phenomenal views of the ocean, bay, and city on all sides. After clamoring to the tip and claiming it all for beloved America (naturally), we turned back around and marched our way to the other end where a restaurant with cold African beer and food awaited us… not to mention the rotating cable car back down, haha.

The weekend before all of this, meanwhile, Dave and I took a one-dollar train trip down to False Bay (which runs along the ocean, literally… if the train tipped over, it’d splash right in like a giant metallic whale) to rent sea kayaks in Simons Town. With a small group of other paddlers, we set out from the local naval base into the wide-open Atlantic, where I became best friends with several sea lions (no joke, I think one waved at me), all of whom kept popping up to say ‘hello’ next to our kayaks. Later, after navigating the waves and taking in the best views of the coast I’ve seen yet (nothing like observing the cliffs, coves, and clouds from the water) we “parked” our boats amongst the rocks near Boulders Beach and mingled with dozens of African PENGUINS (capitalization to emphasis my enthusiasm for such things). Yeah, they just so happen to colonize there in all their endangered glory, no big deal. I walked away from that day with mildly increased arm definition, flora/fauna euphoria, and a bad case of sun-induced dehydration… so all-in-all, a victory in my book.

In case you were wondering, I do other things besides exercise. (I don’t know how I’ll stay in shape when I go back to the Midwest, come to think of it… even the word “gym” tastes sort of paltry when I say it out loud. Anyone want to sell me their bicycle this May?) I’ve demolished innumerable books since arriving in Africa, both academic and tasteless. I’m doing oodles of scholarly research in conjunction with my volunteer work, as well (anyone want to fund my Masters? Haha)… mostly centered on international/comparative education and literacy attainment in multilingual and/or disadvantaged communities. I’m bombing at Xhosa lessons (bring back the Swahili, tafadhali!), but I didn’t do poorly on the African drums, if I do say so myself. On Thursday and Friday nights, some friends and I like to frequent one or two local cafes/bars for free live folk, African fusion, or reggae bands.

Oh, and last Monday? I participated in a political rally and march to parliament. But more on that later.

Debbie Downer Day

Recently, I was having an epically bad day. To be honest with you, I can hardly remember why it was so terrible, but you know what I mean. I don’t have Bad Days very often, so this was the real deal. All the tiniest things kept going wrong, and more importantly, I had just discovered (via my online bank account) that I was broke as a joke. Not a humongous surprise, considering I’ve continued to pay my student loans, work without a paycheck, and had budgeted half-blind for six months on a foreign continent; bad exchange rates, cab fees, and porter tips unknown and thus unplanned for. I knew the day would come, but I had no idea how soon. Anyway, I was feeling a little terrified about money (to say the least) when I suddenly realized that I had also misplaced one of my many notebooks. This one in particular is near and dear to me, as it contains ALL my notes from teaching in Africa, from lesson plans to personal anecdotes, Tanzanian orphanages to South African schools. BUMMER.

Then it rained that morning, or something ridiculous. It almost NEVER rains here in Cape Town. We watch the local news every day during breakfast before we head to work, and without fail, the weather map will show the entire country covered in animated, angry little rain clouds – all but the very bottom left hand corner. That’s Cape Town. So, naturally, it rained that morning.

I arrived at school an hour later with a mild headache and slightly damp jeans, woe-is-me-ing over my newfound poverty and beloved-notebook predicament, among other things. A sorry sight, and I’m not proud. Nothing could prepare me for what was waiting in room 1B, however.

Never mind the onslaught of “Good Morning Miss Sarah” I received upon opening the front door. Never mind the bright, smiling faces of 40 first graders. I still wasn’t 100-percent. Within the first half hour, with even my best game face on (I always try to check my personal life and emotional silliness at the door), my students read me like a book – and they can’t even do that yet!

There I was, poking around the windowsill to see if I might have left my notebook there, when Chad-Lee ran up and kissed my elbow twice. Just like that. Ran right up and kissed my elbow, and then stood there smiling up at me like he knew something I didn’t. After my initial shock, I laughed at how ridiculous it was and then told him to get back to work before I tickled him to death.

Not five minutes later, during a class meeting, Hayden snuck over and presented me with a home-made gift (not his first – he’s a repeat offender/gift-giver) – two pieces of thin cardboard stapled together, with raggedly cut lined paper stuffed in the middle, his name neatly written three times on the first page.

THE BOY HAD MADE ME A NEW NOTEBOOK. Oh my god.

There’s no way he could have known I lost my original. I hadn’t told anyone. The World just told him I was hurting for one, and he fashioned it out of recycled homework and cereal boxes. I nearly started crying, it was so absurd. And amazing.

Not twenty minutes later, Keisha popped up next to me (they have nearly zero concept of raising their hands) as I knelt over another child and helped him to decipher the endlessly complex code that is the difference between “left” and “right,” when suddenly she pressed something into my palm, the most serious look upon her face. I opened my hand to discover about 10 Rand in coins. I looked up at her, surprised. That’s a decent amount of pocket money for a six year old. “Do you want me to watch this for you, Keisha? Are you afraid you’re going to lose it before lunch?” She shook her head no. “Did you find it?” No, again, like I’m a complete idiot. “What’s up, then, honey?”

It’s for Miss Sarah. (Insert long, pregnant pause.) “Sorry?” It’s for Miss Sarah. I want you to have it.

Naturally, I freaked out, refused the money, told her to keep it and buy herself something nice (“Like a book” -- shameless). She told me I should buy a biscuit or a dress. Sound advice, Keisha, but I prevailed in the end. After a bear hug, I told her to put her money in her backpack where she wouldn’t lose it.

Only later (after dinner, sitting at the home-base with both of my notebooks, as I found the original there – thank goodness, holy smokes) did I really reflect on how I had gotten everything I “needed” that day – a notebook, money, elbow kisses– all out of the kindness of my six-year-olds’ hearts. Six year olds who have NOTHING and live in impoverished South Africa. Ugh. Life is never as rotten as it seems.

I could not have made up the events of that day if I tried. The new notebook from Hayden now sits on the mantel in my bunkroom, next to the paper “heart” Lee pasted together and the “book” Jade “authored” for me over the weekend. Some souvenirs can’t be bought in stores.

Mission Not-Impossible

The mission being my classroom library corner, of course.

Right now, the plan is to set up the “bones” of the library corner this week and next, hunting down some sort of shelving and book baskets/bins (perhaps, in part, from other rooms in the school… not unlike an academic/thrifty Easter-egg hunt). I will fill this corner with the books my teacher currently has, as well as the ones my students have brought in to share (bless their sweet six-year-old souls). Then I’ll dive deeper into the heart of the operation, beginning with the borrowing of a South African’s library card and commencing the checking out of new books to share with my kids (I’d get my own card, but believe it or not, I already tried and got totally shut down. Un-cool. They don’t even know about my history of outstanding fines!). I may try to rally outside sources for support/used book donations, but I haven’t gotten that organized yet. Until then, I’m continuing my vicious battle against illiteracy in the classroom with regular read-alouds, book discussions, and the coloring of bookmarks. All my students became “authors” last week, too, when I “published” their writings and illustrations on “Love and Kindness” (after a particularly brutal week with toxic levels of teasing and tattling). Up next is “Super-Star Reader Awards,” literacy games, and magazine explorations. One step at a time, right?

On Friday, CCS set up a meeting for me with a local NGO called The Shine Centre, which works within several area schools (particularly those challenged with humongous class sizes, disadvantaged student backgrounds, and English language learners) to bring up student literacy levels. In essence, an amazing program I’d kill to work for. Needless to say, I walked away newly inspired and chock-full of ideas.

Meanwhile, I’ve also made two trips to the local Athlone library branch a few blocks from Cypress School – last week with the 7th graders, this week with the 5th graders. My 1st graders don’t get to go until April, but I talked a librarian into giving me extra bookmarks as incentives for them until then (but only after a different librarian denied me blank copies of the library card application form – BOO). Each grade gets to march down the street once this term (since Cypress has no library, as I’ve probably mentioned 200 times) to learn straight from a friendly librarian how to acquire a library card, use an encyclopedia, and find books that interest them or will help them on school projects, among other things. She then reads a story aloud to them, allows them to browse books on their own, and then gives them a rather disappointing speech about how “usually, boys don’t very much like books” (at which point half the audience then turned their attention out the window, darn it) and “not everyone is a good reader” (umm, shut up)… but then quickly followed up by saying it doesn’t matter how long it takes you to read a book, just so long as you can and enjoy it. Sigh.

There is a book for every kid/person out there, no matter what their interest or ability level… and plenty of cool comics, newspapers, and magazines, too! So much for fostering a “world of words” for these guys. Still, despite these slightly defeatist remarks (and my resulting mild frustration), the kids seemed to enjoy themselves… and at least now they know where the local library is.

Let me do it now

We’ve had a small scare/major bit of sadness at the home base today. After lunch, we were all informed that one of our fellow volunteers had to come home early from her placement this morning because a child at her preschool passed away over the weekend…from meningitis. Since the child was present at school on Friday, it would have had to have been a very quick-moving variety of the disease (if that is indeed the cause of death)… so everyone’s a little anxious, to say the least. More than anything, we’re deeply concerned for the child’s family and are mourning his/her early departure.

How precious and ridiculously short life is. We are reminded of it all the time. It seems a little morbid, sometimes, to think of our lives as numbered days… but it’s true of us all. Embrace every day, in every possible way. Eat cake. Climb mountains. Blow kisses. Give back. Do what you can, while you can – your impact matters, big or small.

I shall pass through this world but once. Any good thing therefore that I can do, or any kindness that I can show to any human being, let me do it now. Let me not defer it or neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again. – Etienne de Grellet

Literacy Love

The week before last, I found out that the room labeled “Library” at Cypress -- the one I suspected may be a holding cell for past volunteers -- was most definitely neither. Early one morning, the principal, Mr. T, agreed to meet with Dave and I and discuss his hopes for Cypress, as well as the challenges it faces. During our chat (during which we got an impromptu tour of the “library”/storage room), it came out -– suddenly, like word vomit, to the point where I found myself so enthusiastically speaking on the subject, I surprised even myself -– that my foremost passion and interest under the education umbrella is literacy.

Nothing made me more happy than sharing beautiful and informative children’s books with my kiddos in Tanzania. Nothing pumped me up more than seeing their appreciative and excited faces every time they realized that they knew what was going on in the book, and/or recognized that the words on the page were telling a story. Now, standing before my students in Athlone, asking them to predict what will happen when the Cat in the Hat releases Thing 1 and Thing 2, or to show me their “roars” like the main character in Library Lion, I am filled with such animated pleasure at the sight of their enthusiasm, I can barely contain myself.

My 1st graders now beg for read-alouds, and angrily shush each other when someone else interrupts. Recently, Mrs. P began hunting down books for me to read to them before I head home every day, which is a wonderful, to say the least, but best and most exciting of all is this: ever since I started bringing in books to share with my students, one child after another now arrives at school in the morning with some sort of early-reader or dilapidated library book under his/her arm, which they then proudly march up to me and ask to share with the class. To see a love for books and reading developing right before my very eyes… well, it makes me sort of sick with satisfaction.

How difficult it is for these kids to get their hands on books, quality or otherwise! It’s incredible. It may not be rural Tanzania (where I had to travel all the way to Nairobi to find a store that sold anything but terrifying religious/moral texts and poorly translated paperbacks), but resources are still often scattered, scarce, expensive and/or inadequate. I read recently that 92% of public schools in South Africa don’t have a functioning library. NINETY-TWO PERCENT. Good lord. No wonder the literacy rate is so low (and by extension, employment rates and economic opportunity)! No wonder my kids thirst for literature!

Cypress Primary is no exception. While it may have recently acquired a privately donated, beautiful new computer lab, it has no library to speak of, and certainly no librarian. Children coming from neighborhoods and homes where print/lit is scarce (and where many parents are not so literate themselves) must rely on their teachers to provide them with this exposure, life skill, and academic opportunity (not to mention the pleasure) of books and reading. If the teachers’ school has no library to draw from as a resource, they must provide for it themselves… or simply ignore (and perpetuate) the problem altogether.

So, what can be done? Honestly, it’s a tall order. Some of the sinks in the bathrooms don’t work, the security cameras and metal drainage pieces were recently stolen, and many of the windows have only just recently been replaced after getting smashed in. How can a growing literacy problem be tackled when basic infrastructure can barely be kept up with? How can a national problem (and by “problem,” I mean “crisis”) be dealt with at the local level?

I’m starting small, myself. It’s time to get my hands dirty. The classroom in which I’m teaching doesn’t yet have a reading corner, or any organized children’s books to speak of… so I’m going to create one. By the end of my 3 months here, Cypress Primary 1B should have its own classroom library, from which both teacher and students can access print for curriculum enrichment, literacy attainment, and pure reading bliss. My hope is to have beautiful and engaging books in English, Afrikaans, and Xhosa, as well as various literacy games and resources, all organized and categorized according to my children’s interests, ability levels, and needs. My aim is something both functional and sustainable. Truthfully, I have no idea how I’ll acquire all these things (plans forthcoming), but man, nothing lights a fire under me more than bright, disadvantaged kids in need… and they are so completely deserving.

Student "A"

Student A, in my class of nearly 45 first graders, is a boy of no more than six years of age. More often than not, he’s in trouble for talking out of turn or not following directions. Imagine that, right? He’s incessantly getting up out of his seat to follow one of his teachers around the room, asking them to look at every other letter or color he adds to his work, persistently tugging on our shirts and tapping our arms, legs, and hips until he gets our attention. But even as you go to admonish his latest behavioral faux pas, you’ll turn around to find him smiling up at you with the warmest, widest grin, which, even still, doesn’t quite reach his vastly sad brown eyes. Why?

During my first week at Cypress several weeks ago, I found out that his mother had recently decided to “peace out” (whatever that means), leaving him in the care of the neighborhood and what I’ve come to find out are his semi-supportive grandparents, among other various family members. Grandpa is recently out of prison himself, naturally, while Grandma stated to Student A’s teacher that nearly all of the adults in A’s life are abusive drug addicts. Super. These brilliant role models, at their best, bully A and take his meals for themselves. Gosh, no wonder he asked for extra food last Friday. Meanwhile, when Mrs. Petersen and I asked Student A why he was coming in to school late all last week, he explained that he hadn’t been sleeping well. Turns out, he’d been wandering the streets until nine P.M., avoiding his own home like some sort of plague.

My fourth week has just come to a close, and not a day goes by now that I don’t get at least half a dozen “hit and run” hugs from Student A. Its protracted-sigh and heart-wrench inducing. Then yesterday, he told me he loved me.

Damn. Six years old. Every day, I bend down in front of him and have a private meeting. You’re not going to stay out late tonight, are you, A? And you’re coming to school tomorrow, right? And you know I love you, don’t you? Perfect. But here I am writing this, curled up in my bed, and all I can think is, “Oh man, where is Student A right now? Is that boy safe tonight?”

All I want for him, and all my students, is the chance to feel valued, cared for, and protected (at the very least well-fed)... and if his safe haven cannot and will not be home, it sure as hell is going to be school. If Miss Sarah has the last word, anyway.

Desmond Tutu

"My humanity is bound up in yours, for we can only be human together."

The Beautiful [Local] Game

On Friday of last week, I paid about $10 to see my first official African soccer match, and it was worth every penny and more.

South Africa has around a dozen national league teams, the most popular being the Pirates and Kaizer Chiefs (rumored to be Mandela’s fave, as well). The local Cape Town team, however, is the Ajax, which plays at a stadium recently renovated for last years’ World Cup. No, not the huge awesome one near the ocean that looks like a giant, futuristic donut and just hosted U2 (Cape Town Stadium)– the tiny, crappier one in Athlone, the township in which I teach and am generally told to watch my back in during even the sun-shiniest hours of the day. Didn’t stop me from attending, however, and watching Ajax defeat the Free State Stars in a 1-0 victory (jetting them up to first in the league), all to the deafening call of those ridiculous horns and the beautiful beat of traditional African drums (which people just plop down on the bleachers and beat until their hands go numb)… not to mention some customary ref-heckling.

With no major safety concerns (that one homeless guy who kept swearing at no one in particular and eventually got ballsy enough to grab my friend’s leg before wandering off being the only exception), I’d definitely attend another game in Athlone. (Don’t worry, Dad. We left all our valuables at home, called a private cab, and had him waiting for us outside of the Stadium when we left the game 10 minutes early to avoid the crowds and crazies.) There’s something really amazing about attending a local soccer game in the neighborhood where the kids I teach actually live, surrounded by people who themselves live, breathe, and die by soccer. I feel as one with the community as a blonde American could, and that’s saying an awful lot.

Every since I started playing “football” when I was seven, I’ve loved watching the Beautiful Game. Nothing compares to watching it live in the first African country to hold the World Cup (and only just last summer), however, as there’s still a buzz in the air about it. Except perhaps watching it in that country’s giant, futuristic donut… that might be even more marvelous. Sigh, some day.

Bleeding Green & Yellow

Kelly green and Sunshiney yellow – those are the school colors of Cypress Primary, and during my 2nd week, I got a chance to soak in (or ooze, if you will) some real school spirit. On 15 February, primary schools all around the Athlone area competed in an official Sports Championship, where their best tiny runners, jumpers, and throwers showed up at the local stadium in their schools’ official (and sometimes not-so-official) track/pt outfits to give each event their all… all in order to see which school could boast the most athletic achievement. Terrific, right? And everyone else gets the day off from school. This is truly a blessing, as it was in the dead-heat of summer, so even when sitting completely still in your classroom (which happens NEVER in 1st grade), you feel a bit like an egg cracked over a hot stove.

I find a lot of my best (or at least most memorable) mass-kid moments here in Africa always begin with us being crammed into a small space; under that umbrella, it’s usually aboard a bus not meant to transport dozens of children. When I was in Tanzania, for instance, I once found myself sandwiched into the front seat of a passenger bus so filled to the gills with preschoolers, they literally sat on each others laps, upon my feet, and in every inch of the aisles, all in the name of their “first and possibly last ever field trip” to the infamous “snake park,” which could be more aptly described as a dilapidated petting zoo for venomous snakes and mzungu-price camel rides. The entire day was such a liability nightmare (by Western and most generally excepted rational standards) my poor heart could barely take the stress of writing a mere blog about it even some time later. Upon reflecting on my Athlone Sports Day, however, I couldn’t help but draw some parallels.

The one that resonates most is that each morning began with volunteers and teachers attempting to organize all the children/athletes onto busses meant for other things, followed promptly by a far more organized attempt by the children to serenade us all with some spirited singing. In Tanzania, dozens of adorably-accented tiny people charmed me into a hot, crowded oblivion by crooning “In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight – Ahh-wooooooo! Wee-bum-bum-boo-way” at the top of their tiny lungs. This lasted five minutes straight. In Cape Town, meanwhile, the singing on the bus was more “chant” than “song;” a battle cry for Cypress victory. I have to tell you, being surrounded by children enthusiastically yelling “We-are-CYPRESS! AND-NO-ONE-CAN-DEFEAT-US! AND-IF-YOU-CAN-NOT-HEAR-US, WE’LL SHOUT A LITTLE LOUDER!” on an enclosed charter bus is nearly as infectious as it is ear-splitting. I’ve rarely felt more freaked out, pumped up, and naively optimistic.

Naïve we were, too. Cypress rarely competes well among its 11 other neighbors in sporting competitions, usually falling somewhere at the bottom of the athletic (and general resource) food-chain every year. This is actually rather telling, as several of the competitors have year-round physical education programs, while Cypress… well, I’m pretty sure they started training when Dave and I showed up on campus about one week earlier, and he was dubbed “Coach.” (Thus our inclusion on the bus and involvement in all things medical tape, finish line, and crowd-control that day.) I honestly think Dave’s daily hurdle, shot-put, and baton-passing crash-courses (not to mention boundless amounts of team-spirit) made a difference, however, as Cypress not only came in 8th (instead of 12th, out of 12, haha), but also had several runners and jumpers placing 1st in their age group… including one of my own students! (To whom I then obviously showed unyielding bias for, cheering ridiculously from the sidelines and giving copious amounts of high-fives to anyone nearby). Her name, naturally, is Robin Williams. Why not?

I spent most of my time at the finish line and in the long-jump pit, measuring the jumps and scratches of 3rd, 4th, and 5th grade boys whilst falling in love with all of the kids in green and gold, meanwhile obtaining the wickedest suntan/burn of my young life. All-in-all, a really good day for Cypress Primary, Coach Dave, Patch Adams, and myself. More Teacher & Athletic Adventures to follow.