Thanksgiving!

As sometimes happens, my birthday fell on Thanksgiving this year and I relished the fact that I was in a country that had no knowledge the latter and thus was able to focus entirely on the former. I spent the week cooking and baking (and am now suffering exhaustion as a result) but can proudly brag about cooking an entire Thanksgiving dinner myself -- and off crutches. An array of lovely friends joined me in celebrating and eating, making my 26th birthday a unique and memorable birthday -- one of the best, truly.

A week and a half to go, and nothing seems to be dying down in terms of my work here. The principal at the school where I have been delivering SV prevention declared a crisis in Grade R (Kindergarten) as the youngsters are "sexually active" and asked us to come in and help this week. Apparently some, or most, of the 52 kiddies are molesting each other while in the classroom, out on the playground, just about anywhere and no one noticed until now.

I also have to wrap up the evaluations on the programs I worked on, which will mean hours of tedious number crunching. Despite the mundanity, this week is the staff end-of-the-year party, complete with DJ and dancing. It is sure to provide unparalleled entertainment as some of the best dancers I have ever seen will take to the dance floor. The clinic is celebrating World AIDS Day is on Friday, and an outside speaker and choir are coming in to perform.

At the tail end of my immobilization (which is gladly over!) I voraciously read through a few notable books. One of them, When A Crocodile Eats the Sun, is written by the author of the quote that inspired my blog in the first place, Zimbabwean ex-pat Peter Godwin. It has truly all come full circle! Here are a few other quotes from the same book, the first one for anyone who has worked in the field of international aid:

"It's always instructive to observe the life cycle of the First World aid-worker. A wary enthusiasm blooms into an almost messianic sense of what might be possible. Then, as they bump up against the local cultural limits of acceptable change, comes the inevitable disappointment, which can harden into cynicism and even racism, until they are no better than the reside whites they have initially disparaged."

AND -- because now, at the end of my time here, I have developed an affinity and endearment toward South Africa:

"I feel like weeping. Weeping at the way Africa does this to you. Just as you're about to dismiss it and walk away, it delivers something so unexpected, so tender. One minute you're scared shitless, the next you're choked with affection."

Understanding

I am approaching 5 weeks until departure, and that has given me a new appreciation for my time left here, as well as excitement to see family and friends again.

A strange coincidence occurred last week, which is not actually that out of the norm, but it left a distinct mark on me. First, I received a phone call from a social worker who was calling on behalf of a frantic mother. The woman's son (age 14) had tested positive for HIV twice, and yet his father refused to take him to the doctor, preferring a sangoma (traditional medicine) instead. The sangoma declared the boy was possessed of an evil spirit and prescribed remedies to exorcise the spirit. Months later, the boy's health was rapidly declining and yet the father still refused Western medicine. I transferred the call to our Social Welfare Manager, Penny, as I felt utterly unsure what to do. The next day Penny told me she phoned the mother again to solidify a plan, and the boy had already died. The gravity sunk in: her frantic phone call the day before was her desperate last attempt to save him.

Later on in the week we learned that one of our own staff members passed away. We had a memorial service on-site and gathered to honor her memory. She was a smiley, energetic, happy 25 year-old and yet AIDS ravaged her body as well. We learned that she had been too afraid to test for HIV until she was in the hospital, immobilized by TB, and it was already too late. How can someone who works at a HIV clinic not know?, I asked myself. And it wasn't until arguing with a Afrikaner at a braii (South African bbq) this weekend that I realized the answer.

She did know. She knew about HIV/AIDS, about risks and safe sex and symptoms, and yet she still succumbed to the fear and stigma that prevents so many people from testing. I think it is far too easy to attribute the HIV epidemic to general lack of education. All I have to do is look to the 200 children I educate every Friday to realize that their knowledge of HIV exceeds most American's.

Fear, stigma and cultural practices -- which we can all relate to -- are the deeper layers that fuel a complex epidemic.

Good news/bad news

Above Left: Jacaranda trees fill the streets right now leaving a carpet of purple across the city.
Above Right: This is the public transport system in SA, taxis crammed full of people that stop at undesignated locations.

L: Patey and I with an image of my glorious cast and crutches.

I went to the doctor last week and he took off Cast #1, said I don't need a skin graft (good news) and that there is no way I would be able to travel in December (bad news) and then put on Cast #2. I go back on Monday to get this one taken off, the stitches out and a third cast put on. Argh.

More specifically, when I asked him about traveling he replied, "I don't think you understand the magnitude of this injury." I was about to respond when I started to swoon due to the sight of my massacred ankle and had to lie down.

Last week I returned to work for 2 half-days and I must say, I have never been so happy to be back. Being around people was good for my spirit, and forced me to take a hiatus from my pity party. It is hard to feel sorry for yourself when you have an unemployed, HIV-positive mother who has just been dumped by her boyfriend sitting across from you. I also picked up on an uniquely South African response to injury; almost every co-worker I came across gave me a minute of sympathy and then responded "But you'll be okay." Hearing this about ten times in one day alone had a significant affect on my outlook and I begin to feel pretty optimistic about my prognosis.

The patients at the clinic have responded similarly -- peeking into my office to inquire about my accident and wishing me a quick recovery. Tomorrow I am venturing back to the combined school for sexual violence prevention tomorrow having missed two weeks, and while I am nervous that the under-resourced facilities won't accommodate crutches, I am really looking forward to engaging in work that has been one of my highlights over the past year.

Speaking of which ... I finally bought my ticket home! I leave Joburg on 08 December, in time for World AIDS Day and the clinic's infamous Christmas party, complete with DJ and dancing this year (which I will do everything possible to participate in). Hard to believe that my time here is coming to a close in less than 7 weeks. But for now, I am focusing on the present, and enjoying my favorite things here albeit a bit slower.

Monotony

I made it through the weekend -- miraculously -- and managed to sleep quite a bit thanks to the generosity of Schedule 3 prescription medicine. I had quite a few visitors, and each one provided respite from both physical and emotional pain (As an aside: there is never a good time for a broken heart, but one of the worst times must be when you are laid up with a cast and unable to move. Lacking all of the usual conveniences of distraction, one is driven to contemplate, more than necessary, the said heartbreak in excess. And come up with quite a beautiful litany on the parallels of simultaneous physical and emotional healing).

There was Patey with her excessive chatter and ability to beat me in Scrabble on her first try, Jan with kindness and gentleness, Ros with wit, humor (and pizza!), and Brendan with chocolate cake and shared dreams of living overseas. I am lucky indeed to have a diverse group of friends in my current country-of-residence. And lucky to have a faithful core back home call me around the clock (even if my sister can never really grasp the 9 hour time difference).

I am reading a few books under the current circumstances, one of which is titled Factory Girls, and explores the migrant factory community in modern China. I was inspired to read this book after a perplexing client at the clinic whose story continues to confound me. She is a forty-something Chinese woman who speaks no English and arrived over a month ago with her 14 year-old daughter for antenatal care. One of the nurses called me in to assess the situation, as the story relayed via the daughter seemed sketchy. I called my friend Patey (who is fluent in Taiwanese, Mandarin, French and English) and she offered to come over and translate as she wasn't doing anything at the moment. So Patey, the woman, her daughter and I crowded into my office to discuss her situation. The details were vague, but through translation we gathered that she, her husband and daughter had come out to South Africa under the promise of a job only to be deserted six months into the gig. Except her husband wasn't deserted; no, he left along with the boss, taking her passport and identity documents and leaving a three month pregnant woman and her daughter completely stranded. The situation looked bleak. And to make matters more difficult, the woman was intent on waiting for the husband to return, even though she hadn't heard from him in several months. The plot thickened when I learned that she was living with a Kenyan woman who "worked nearby". I ran the story by a few colleagues who thought it reeked of prostitution, but I am not sure ...

Then, a few days before her follow-up appointment at the clinic, the Chinese woman phoned Patey and begged her to come to her house to tell her the real story of what happened. Patey demurred, feeling uncomfortable by the vagueness of it all, and the woman persisted. She refused to meet Patey at the clinic, or at a neutral locale, insisting that Patey come to her house to discuss the situation. Patey resisted and the woman kept her follow-up appointment at the clinic. When I saw her the week before my accident, her daughter had learned a little more English and we were able to communicate via the daughter and her hand-held electronic translator. The situation has not changed much; the woman was 9 months pregnant by then and feared returning to China because of the one-child policy. She had heard nothing from her husband or the employer, and her options remained grim. I asked her to contact me after she had her baby and Patey and I would meet with her to make a plan, which will probably include contacting the Chinese embassy because without proper documentation, her and her daughter have no future in South Africa.

I did a bit of research on my own, and found that there is a huge undercover human smuggling ring operating in South Africa -- specifically with Chinese laborers. They are lured out under the promise of work and after arriving in country are abandoned, as the employer runs off with the money he made in the work transaction. And yet I wonder: why did the husband leave his pregnant wife? Knowing very little of Chinese policy, I cannot appropriately advise this woman on what to do, other than take the strengths-based approach and encourage her own intuition and insight. A disconcerting situation, all around.

Tonight I am off to a friend's house for dinner, following a desperate text message I sent around 10pm last night begging her to take me out of the house! All book/movie/online reading recommendations are much appreciated at this point, as are personal updates.

Cooking lessons

I finished a book this morning called "29 Gifts" -- sentimental, easy reading but uplifting when you are in physical pain, as the author earnestly seeks gratitude while living with MS. I have been thinking all day on what I have to be grateful for, and who I can "gift", despite my limited interaction with human beings.

And yet, I can't help but wonder "why now?" Things were just starting to feel comfortable and almost easy in South Africa. I had exciting new opportunities; an offer to make healthy Mexican food at an outdoor organic market, the initiative to head up the Spanish conversation group, feeling really strong in my yoga practice, and a renewed energy at work. Schools had even started up again, and I was preparing for Sex Ed Part II to commence. (Did I mention the Part I lesson, which included 11 year-old girls asking me if it was okay to sleep with someone to prove they 'loved' them?)

All of the aforementioned activities have been put on indefinite hold and I am left with a gnawing restlessness. I understand the importance of slowing down and mindfulness -- don't get me wrong -- but why does it have to be forced upon me? And why now?

My best friend Heather and I have been scheming to take our annual friend-vacation together in December on my way back home, and I wonder how a half-leg cast will factor into the equation. I have decided to wait to purchase my final ticket home until I hear from the orthopedic surgeon next Thursday and find out if I need more surgery (please, God, no!).

In South Africa, especially the northern suburbs, populated by pockets the mostly-white-and-affluent, many people have live-in maids. In fact, many houses have domestic quarters, where gardeners and maids live full time. As ashamed as I feel admitting it, the lovely family I live with also have a maid named Mary, and for the past 6 months I have enjoyed the luxury of having my breakfast waiting for me, my clothes washed, ironed and folded daily and all the cleaning done for me. The past 5 days have afforded me the unforeseen opportunity of spending quite a bit of time with Mary. We have cooked together (me sitting with leg propped instructing and tasting, her doing the actual work) and while I feel incredibly privileged and uncomfortable being served in this way, I remain immensely grateful for her, my constant companion during long days at home. Now I am off to oversee another cooking lesson, as I prepare for a few friends and competitive game of Monopoly tonight.

PS: Two pictures, featuring: 1) Adorable kittens that have made me change my stubborn mind about cats and 2) Titled: An Image Never to be Seen Again.

My life as a (temporary) cripple

It is only fitting, I suppose, that my experience in South Africa, heavily focused on health care, would include a trip to the hospital as a patient. And so, the rounding-out of this experience occurred last Saturday as I was thrown from a horse and landed headfirst.

My forehead is still sore, 5 days later, from the impact of the helmet on my head as I hit the ground. This is a pain that I am immensely grateful for.

It all started with an "easy" ride about 45 minutes away with Lisa, Jean and Colin's daughter, who is a lovely, 22-year-old hippie. About ten minutes in, my horse got spooked, for reasons still unknown, and I went flying overboard. When I landed I looked down at my left leg and saw the sole of my tennis shoe facing me. The fact that my ankle was performing such an extraordinary angle caused immediate concern and Lisa phoned Jean to come.

Luckily, in addition to being a pretty remarkable person, Jean is a medical doctor and the obscenities that escaped her mouth upon seeing my ankle trigged me to begin whimpering in fear.

We raced to the hospital, which, as I mentioned, was 45 minutes away, with Jean and I holding my dangling ankle the entire way. The emergency room staff immediately put me on oxygen, as I was going into shock, and inserted an IV and morphine (pure delight). Then, two huge buff black men entered the room and the nurse told me they had to re-set my ankle. Many drugs later, I was admitted to surgery and came out to my South African "family" Jean, Colin, Lisa and my dear Canadian friend Patey.

I spent the night in the hospital and went home fully drugged up and with a half-leg cast. The past 4 days have been a lot of lying around, reading, listening to French-language CDs (might as well learn a new language, right?) and staring out windows thinking 'how did this happen?'

Today was the first summer thunderstorm, which I was grateful for. Oh, and the last minute thoughtful of a friend who came over to make me sushi. Such are the small pleasures, but I figure a little thankfulness can't hurt at the moment.

A photographic glimpse:

The ubiquitous baboon! Stealing food, gazing from trees, lounging in the middle of the road.

Strike Season

Wow, it has been a long time since I have written. Most every time I go to write I think: where to start? Then, I feel overwhelmed by how much there is to write -- and the tremendous task of putting into words all I am experiencing/learning/doing -- so I don't write at all.

ANYway- the main drama at the moment in South Africa is the ongoing strike which has crippled most of the country for the past week. A basic overview: the public servant unions (which includes nurses, teachers, social workers, police, cleaners) have declared an indefinite strike in response to the government refusing to give them a 8.4% pay increase plus significant increased housing allowance. Several public hospitals have virtually shut down, with patients being blocked from entering the hospital (we went a pregnant woman in an ambulance last week to the hospital and the ambulance returned her an hour later, saying they were refused entrance), and staff being threatened if they do work. A doctor told me yesterday that she was actually chased up into her office by protestors and the police had to intervene!

So this means that kids are not going to school, if they attend public school, and today several of my co-workers received text messages to fetch their children from private schools because the strikers were infringing on private school campuses. It also means that patients are delivering babies at home, HIV patients are being denied treatment at some hospitals, and as for my expired visa -- I have no chance of getting it now that home affairs is also on strike.

In other news, Ari leaves in a week, and as his time draws to a close we are busy running around and seeing all the things we didn't manage to see in 5 months. I have decided to go away to a HIV clinic out in the very rural area for a week with an American friend (who went to UCSB, interestingly enough), right after Ari leaves, which I think will break up the sadness of his absence.

I started the 'Healthy Sexuality' (read: sex ed + sexual violence prevention) programme at a local township school about a month ago, complete with the usual South African complications, only to have it canceled the following three weeks due to the all-encompassing Strike. But one of these days we will go back, and then I will have stories to tell of my new career as a sexual educator.

World Cup End (or almost)

The past few weeks of the World Cup have been sheer madness-- complete with many many late nights, constant energy and plenty of vuvuzelas (at all times). Besides going to see Ghana v. Australia, I have watched at fan parks set up around the city which provide a second-best option to going to the actual games.

Work, which has taken a backseat these days, continues to offer challenges and rewards a-plenty. The Postnatal Clinic has grown to about 36 patients a day, and we are now having to cap which is a little sad but will offer a chance to catch our breath. I am working with 2 psychologists and a counselor on a sexual violence prevention/sex ed program for a local elementary school, which I am sure will provide much awkwardness over the next 2 months (and much heartbreak). And project #3-at the moment- entails recruiting HIV-positive moms for a support group, which will be run by one of the social workers and supervised by yours truly. So positive things are starting, and continuing, and yet the constant encounter with poverty and sorrow feels oppressive.

Oh, and did I mention it is winter in the southern hemisphere? And teetering below 30 degrees at night? I spent the 4th of July with a few friends hovering over a tiny little bar-b-que (braii, in SA), covering our red white and blue clothing with layers of warmth. No fireworks or extravagant celebration but memorable, to be certain.

World Cup Begins!

The first World Cup game begins in less than an hour, and the energy here in Jo-burg is amazing! Everyone at work had on yellow Bafana Bafana (SA) jerseys, babies came for injections with SA flags tatooed on their faces and work ended at 1pm so people could go watch the game. Yesterday I saw England's soccer team (police escort and all) and today I saw Honduras' soccer team (ditto). Even as I type this now, I can hear horns blaring from every direction. The streets are lined with flags adorning people and cars, and every building has flags sticking out.

Heading out now to catch the game at a local pub since the traffic to the fan park is reported to be in gridlock. Viva Africa!

Driving to work one day

Just have to perpetuate the stereotypes of Africa any chance I get :)

The frustrations of living overseas

I am not completely sure if that is an appropriate title. Are these frustrations expected for living overseas? Or is it just the developing world? Or is it just South Africa?

In any case, this week has been full of frustrations, and I can only attribute them to the roller-coaster of living overseas, even though, at nearly 5 months, I would have hoped to exit the ride by now. Allow me to vent:

1. Internet. I know I should be grateful for internet, since in Huanuco, Peru they thought wireless was some myth they had heard existed "out there", yet the unpredictability of internet in this country is completely unnerving. What is all the more frustrating is when you must call the government telecommunication corporation to inquire, and they blame it on "Expected and unexpected maintenance" (which could be code for someone deciding to not come into work today).

2. Driving. Having just learned to drive manual, and while driving on the left-hand side of the road, I am a bit cautious still. My nervousness is only exacerbated by the random buses that cut in front of me, the hired (yes, hired) blind person standing in the middle of traffic and the constant threat of someone smashing through my window to steal my purse, as indicated by Highjack Hotspot warning signs at intersections. 

3. Language. Someone should have informed me before I arrived in SA that "piss" means "piece", "aslam" means "asylum", "where do you stay?" means "where do you live?" and to most South Africans, an American accent sounds like your nose is plugged and/or you have cotton in your mouth. Furthermore, "cross" means "angry", and South Africans have absolutely no problem telling you that they are cross with you for any number of reasons. Get ready to explain yourself.

4. Customer service. This is virtually non-existent in SA, and manifests in ways large and small; from cell phone carriers offering no explanation for why your phone won't work to hospitals inattention to patients which results in babies being delivered in waiting rooms (as I learned yesterday). All of my tried and true arguing strategies and threats-to-speak-to-the-manager are met with a blank stare and flat affect here in SA. Even my law-school-trained boyfriend has found minimal success leading me to believe that poor service is something I just may have to accept.

5. Crime. The high crime levels in Johannesburg have many affects on daily living, not least of which is being sequestered to shopping malls for entertainment. Gone are the days of walking from my apartment to Central Square to meet a friend for coffee-- not only is it unsafe to walk outside here, but all coffee shops are hidden away in protected shopping malls, many of which require you to be patted down to enter! Sure, the cappuccinos are only $1.50 and that is wonderful, but what I really want is to sit outside, by myself, and sip a cappuccino while enjoying nature, unawares. 

And I'd even be willing to pay the extra $3.00 to do this :)

Photos from our trip

Above: Cooking class :)
Below: Prince Albert, beautiful country town located in the Little Karoo.

Above: Ari and I in Plettenburg Bay, hiking next to the Indian Ocean.

The Great Karoo (and a new clinic too)

 April began with A) Ari’s arrival and B) a two-week trip across the country. The vacation confirmed for me that South Africa is truly a diverse place—both in its people and landscape.  Our highlights included: swimming in the Indian Ocean (and escaping human-size jellyfish); wine tasting in Franschoek, the Napa-esque wine country; taking an all-day cooking course in the middle of the Karoo (read: middle of nowhere); and exploring the trendy and popular Cape Town. My personal highlight was Cape Town, as I could walk around outside freely, a luxury I am not afforded in crime-ridden Johannesburg. The museums were incredible, and there is oh-so-much to do.

            Since we have been back, Ari has been volunteering at the clinic, helping with administrative and semi-legal projects, and trying to adjust to a foreign country. What a relief to finally have a fellow American to vent to and share developing-country frustrations with, though we set daily quotas so we don’t slip into complete cynicism.

            The middle of April brought the opening of the Postnatal Clinic, the big project I have spent the past 4 months working on. Jean, the director, brought in cake and streamers to celebrate the opening, and we sent a press release and photo to the local papers. It has been very exciting to see the fruition of months of planning, meetings, data, and such. As an added bonus, I am not only managing the Postnatal Clinic, but I am also working in it as the social worker. The combination of roles makes for a lot of stress, but is also quite rewarding, as I am able to live out my ultimate macro/clinical social work fantasy. In addition to being rewarding, I have also felt completely overwhelmed. The stories these women share compounded by the utter desperation and the poverty they live in is rattling. Several of the patients I have seen are teenage girls, newly diagnosed as HIV-positive, carrying their 7 day-old-babies as they tell me of how their boyfriend left them and they have no money.

            Perhaps one of the most shocking facets of Johannesburg is the contrast between rich and poor. Several people warned me of this startling reality before I arrived, and yet it never ceases to disturb. An example: Every morning Ari and I notice a verdant stench of smoke coming from our “neighbors.” We could not place this smell, and furthermore, had no idea where it was coming from. Finally, one day, on the way home from work, I looked over to the side of the road, just outside my street, and saw a small batch of corrugated tin shacks set up, otherwise known as an “informal settlement.” These are in no way uncommon, despite the fact that this one is literally ¼ mile from a Porsche dealership.

            Now, at the beginning of May, a new season is upon us (Fall) and leaves are changing colors, though nowhere near as beautiful as New England. The nights and mornings are cold, and days are clear and sunny still, which I hear is typical for Johannesburg winters. The whole city, and country, is abuzz with World Cup anticipation, as road workers scramble to finish all the construction. Ari and I joined a new yoga studio, and are committing to go 2-3 times a week. On Saturday we met a lovely couple and began chatting after class, comparing stories of America v. South Africa. The woman mentioned she is a singer, the man an actor, by way of conversation, and we chatted casually before they left. Come to find out, she is one of South Africa’s most famous singers (nominated for Best Female Vocalist at SA’s Grammy awards equivalent), and he is a famous actor who does soap operas! When I went to the grocery store the next day, there they were—plastered all over SA magazine covers. So we have been scheming how to become friends with our famous yoga classmates, all while pretending we have no notion of their fame.

            I have managed to kill the thirty minutes or so I needed to kill while waiting for a meeting with my supervisor while our Internet is down all day (more specifically, all the internet in the town of Fourways is down). More regular updates to come, I promise J

Katie

Swaziland and beyond

Last weekend was adventurous in every sense of the word, as my three other BC classmates placed in South Africa and I joined up and took a trip to Kruger National Park and Swaziland. In between seeing many elephants, getting lost in Swaziland, negotiating our way across the border and 9 hour drives along unpaved roads we had a minorly stressful majorly exciting trip.

I also learned that I truly do love South Africa, and seeing the beautiful countryside and the diversity this country has to offer only furthered my appreciation for my new home. Getting out of the shopping-malls of Johannesburg and seeing the natural beauty made all the difference.

I continue to battle with the various layers of cultural diversity here; which represents the beauty of South Africa's "rainbow nation" and also the years and years of division. As I have read my classmates blogs from around the world, and hear painful stories of female subjugation, I am grateful to be in a country that somewhat endorses gender equality. 

And yet ... in most of the African cultures, gender roles are governed by patriarchy; polygamy is defended (most prominently by the President), rape is rampant, women are coerced into unprotected sex, at times even consenting to "dry sex" where men insist on covering a woman's vagina with herbs, all of these practices furthering the spread of HIV/AIDS. The new post-natal clinic I am setting up will have an emphasis on PMTCT (preventing mother to child transmission), as this seems the most feasible and promising effort to combat the spread of HIV. As a social worker we are repeatedly taught to respect culture. How do I respect culture when "culture" is a scapegoat for such atrocities? These questions remain unanswered for me.

Ari arrives next Saturday (yippee!) and we are spending two weeks to drive down to Cape Town, taking a scenic route that includes the South African wine country, plenty of rural farms (our fav.) and coastal villages. Beautiful pictures to come ...

It will also mark the 3 month mark on my internship here. Almost all of my Global Practice classmates will head back to Boston in May for graduation, which I, sadly, will be missing. However, I continue to feel contentment and fulfillment in my decision to stay longer in South Africa, and have settled on December for my return to the U.S.  

Perhaps the hardest part about being away from home recently has been hearing of my grandpa's losing battle with cancer. Supporting my mom and sister from afar, and wishing desperately that I could be near, is no easy task. I find comfort in knowing that the experience I am having at work, and in life, is unparalleled. Though often challenging, heartbreaking, and difficult, I know this is exactly where I am to be, as I let my environment change and affect me. Two quotes speak to this :

"The familiar life horizon has been outgrown; the old concepts, ideals, and emotional patterns no longer fit; the time for the passing of a threshold is at hand." 

-- Joseph Campbell

"When we get out of the glass bottle of our ego and when we escape like the squirrels in the cage of our personality and get into the forest again, we shall shiver with cold and fright. But things will happen to us so that we don't know ourselves. Cool, unlying life will rush in..." 

-- D.H. Lawrence

Birth

Yesterday I saw my first live birth. I was visiting a hospital near downtown Johannesburg to negotiate referral linkages for the new Post-Natal Clinic when we heard a shout down the corridor. A nurse ran off to attend to the patient in labor, and my co-worker reminded me that I wanted to see a birth and here was my opportunity.

Next thing I knew I had donned scrubs, and was watching a naked woman lying silently (yes, silent, save for a few grunts) on a bed as she delivered a baby girl. I do not consider myself a squeamish person though I must admit, I was feeling quite lightheaded watching this miracle of life and had midwifes and doctors alike shouting at me to "Breathe!" 

All in all it was an amazing experience, and even more amazing was bearing witness to the grit that black South African women have when it comes to childbirth. No pain meds, no partner (or family) standing at her side, no screaming at all. The midwife said she will collect the baby after about 6 hours, hop on a bus and head home. Amazing.

Above is a picture of a visit to a special needs classroom at the primary school next door to the clinic, where I went with a few social workers on Wednesday.

Updates and such

Again I find myself with so much to write, and no idea where to begin. A few recent updates seem especially relevant:

> I moved out of my apartment this weekend and in with Jean, the executive director, and her husband temporarily. I must admit, the lack of transport combined with rudimentary furnishings made living alone incredibly lonely. I feel much more at ease, already, to have the sound of people in the morning and conversation in the evening.

> I have been appointed a new project here at the clinic, which is to teach group therapy techniques to the social welfare department. I really think this rounds out my workload in terms of experience/challenges and interests. Keep plugging away at the SV prevention program and the post-natal clinic. Crossing my fingers that it is ready to open at the beginning of April.

> I received some very wonderful news (inadvertently) that my lovely boyfriend Ari is coming to visit in April! My supervisor is pushing me to take a few weeks off work and travel as apparently in SA the standard minimum amount of yearly time off is 3 weeks. Glorious! Travel plans yet to be determined, but it is just around the time I will have to renew my tourist visa and thus leave the country.

Summer marches on, and I have acquired quite a tan by now thanks for hours and hours by the pool. I am including that note just for all you on the East Coast who are suffering through snow and chill ... you are always welcome in South Africa!

Above is a picture from my Lion Park experience. 

Kruger Park, here I come ...

The pediatric waiting queue:

(Just to give you an idea)

I'm going to a Lion Park ...

I am officially at 3.5 weeks in South Africa, and my-oh-my has it been an interesting journey thus far!

My projects have taken off at work, and I am usually found running around from about 7:30am until I collapse on the couch in the evening.  Then, somehow, I rouse myself to keep up (or begin?) a social life and out the door I go again. I have begun a regualar practice of salsa dancing on Wednesday nights which seems a bit ludacrious considering I am in Sub-Saharian Africa, but then again, why not?

I have met many many many wonderful people over the past several weeks and continue to be amazed and perplexed by the South African way of immediately welcoming people. I am able to re-connect with my friendly California roots, after a year and a half chill, and am quite enjoying it. I have also joined a small group through the Anglican Church on Tuesdays, a yoga class on Thursdays and a regular practice of long runs on the weekends. Some things stay the same no matter the country.

Today I went with the social workers to Diepsloot, to a township (read: shacks with no running water or electricity) just a few kilometers from the affluent suburb the clinic is located in. Despite all the preparation I received, the disparity was shocking, and reminiscent of my days in Huanuco, Peru. In one shack we found a woman lying on the ground, naked, wrapped in a blanket. She has advanced AIDS and had been discharged from the hospital several times over the past month without proper treatment. She was unable to walk and severely emaciated, so we brought her back to the clinic immediately. Scenes such as these are the ones that stay, begrudgingly, for a long time.

My tasks at hand are, in order of priority: to set up a post-natal clinic, to train the staff on sexual abuse response and to bring sex education/sexual abuse prevention to the neighboring schools. But for now I am interviewing staff and pregnant women to gather info for the post-natal clinic. 

On a lighter note: a fellow BC GSSW intern is coming out this weekend to stay at my place! It will be nice to hear an American accent again, and discuss all things culture-shock. Her supervisor is taking us to the "lion park" on Sunday and while I am not entirely sure where or what this is, I assume it will feel very African. 

And per the very-British-custom, I am due for a cup of "normal" (black) tea before meeting with my supervisor.

Cheers for now!

Week One

What a whirlwind. I arrived in Johannesburg, spent a few days trying to regulate my body to the time zone (unsuccessfully), got strep throat, had my first South African braii (bar-b-que), moved into my apartment, and started work.

Along the way, I have also learned way more than I ever wanted to about South African phone and internet companies and survived power outage number 1 (complete with panic-strickenness).

I am spending the rest of this week and next shadowing different departments at the clinic, which will allow me to more fully understand what Witkoppen Health and Welfare Centre does. I began today with Psychiatry in the morning and pap smears in the afternoon. What a combo, eh?

Both were fascinating, and in between translation of Zulu, Swesotho, and Xhosa (the “click” language), I truly learned a great deal. More to come, but for now, my address:

Katie Gaddini c/o Jean Bassett

P.O. Box 237

Riverclub

2149

South Africa

I appreciate any and all letters, words of encouragement, reading material, and American yummies.

Oh how I loathe packing.

Packing for Africa, attempt number 2. I've switched from the folding method to the rolling method in order to maximize luggage space.

The snow outside is motivating me onward as I dream of my upcoming leap into summer. I'll arrive in Johannesburg at 6:30pm local time Sunday, January 10 after an 18+ hour flight from Boston by way of DC and Dakar.

I will send updates once I have arrived, hydrated, and found internet.