Trail of Campsites

Bethlehem to Clarens, where we stayed two nights. Clarens to Amphitheatre Backpackers, otherwise known as the Thenadier Establishment (seen/read Les Miz? Remember the crooked innkeepers? the manager/owner of this place reminded me strongly of Mssr. Thenadier. Don't stay there.). The Thenadier Establishment to Richard's Bay, via Durban, where we stayed with a very kind and hospitable Afrikaneer family we knew through a friend of the group. It was so relaxing and wonderful to be staying in a home for a while! They took us surfing and to a game reserve and we cooked them Moroccan, Mexican and American food as repayment (and paid for gas for those days trips). From Richard's Bay we went to Sodwana Bay, and camped outside a dive resort there for a week as A. got his Open Water Dive certification. We were harassed by monkeys but greatly enjoyed the peace and quiet of a campsite in a National Wetland Reserve. And the waffles that one could buy at the resort. They were topped with ice cream. We went diving, and I saw a Manta Ray!!! they are HUGE. HUUUGGGEEE. We also saw a sea turtle, maybe a Loggerhead, but we aren't sure, not having had the presence of mind to count the number of paired scales on his shell. Then, on to Swaziland where we camped one night, but only passed through on our way to Maputo, Mozambique, where we are now, attempting to make our way north. We will drop off W. at her dive internship up north, and then return and continue on our way...
My only real complaint thus far is the lack of volunteering opportunities we have been able to find. Hopefully we can fix this as we continue on our path. :)

Bethlehem

No, not the Holy Land. It's near Lesotho, a small city with a neat little campsite/bunkhouse place we discovered in a book. It's cool, but the owner ran over his puppy just as we got there. She's an adorable Border Collie named Lucy. Still in kind of tough shape, but hopefully pulling through. We're on our way back south, headed for the Drakensberg Mountains. Hopefully, we'll be in Durban for the World Cup final.
The last week has been a wrap up of our time in Pretoria. Our host, John, was truly awesome. He put up with us for a whole week, and then took us out on the town the last night. I drove home (DD), which was interesting. I've never driven on the left side of the road before. It's not too bad, except for shifting gears with my left hand is WIERD. We went to three games, I saw Ghana lose a heart-breaking game to Uruguay due to a cheapshot handball that blocked the final goal. Then Ghana missed the penalty kick by all of 2 inches, it was the saddest ever. Besides that, we hung out, stiched up torn clothing and tents (durn baboons... I wasn't there, but they broke into the tent in the middle of the night and stole food), and did some sight seeing in the Johannesburg area. I went to the Apartheid Museum. It was amazing. It's as well done a museum as I've seen. A good attempt to face up to a difficult and sometimes ugly history withoutg dwelling unhealthily on the bad. It actually left me feeling hopeful. If South Africa can get from there to here, where can they go from here? Truly amazing what a few good leaders and the will of a determined people can accomplish. Also cool to learn was that Nelson Mandela's Nobel Peace Prize was jointly given with the then president of apartheid South Africa, NK something (curse my poor memory for names!). The thing is, the fact that they worked together is what made a mostly peaceful transition possible. All you have to do to see what happens when people don't work together is take a stroll through the history of Zimbabwe, the DRC, or Liberia. The difference is monumental.

Met a really awesome kid named Tshepo on a bus, who took us around the city, into his home, and into his church. People really showing real love to wanderers like us, it's inspiring. And it was a great time, too. Thanks Tshepo!!

Gauteng

So, the region surrounding Johannesburg and Pretoria is known as Gauteng. I have only 4 minutes left on my credit for internet, so here's some flashes:

Soweto = the most well developed, affluent township/ex-slum I've ever seen.
Museum for June 16th, the day the world began to notice apartheid, disturbing but excellently rendered.
Rasty's graffiti = amazing, huge, full of color and reflective of life. It's like the music here, only visually.
Race dynamics are intense here. Walking around with our (black) African friend Tshepo earned us a lot of wierd looks from black and white Africans alike.
Johannesburg is HUGE. Ridiculously so.
Rich suburbs have a

Weddings

One of the last things I did in my site in Morocco was attend a wedding. One of the first things I did in the US was... attend a wedding.

They were very different.

They were also similar. The brides both wore white. The grooms both wore white, too. I think the grooms also wore jeans for part of both ceremonies... I dressed up for both of them, and wore way more eye make-up than I usually do. They were both stressful occasions and very happy occasions. The weather was perfect for both. The food was delicious (but different) at both. I stayed up super late on account of both weddings. The both involved music. They both involved dancing. They were both community affairs, conducted in the homes of friends and family. They were both religious.

But beyond that... well. The Moroccan wedding proceeded as usual. The brides family prepared her for the big day, with her dowry, and the intricate flowers and patterns of henna covering her hands and feet. The groom's family cooked huge amounts of food, mostly the typical goat/lamb and prunes and sweet onion sauce with bread dish (it's good, trust me!). They served lunch to the close family and got ready to bring the bride over. Then, they carried their gifts to the bride across town on mules, singing and dancing and chanting and playing drums the whole way to the brides house. Once they got there, the brides family dress the bride under cover of a sheet held over their heads. (Aside: I always think of the forts my brother and I used to make as kids when they do this...) Then, they brought the bride back to the groom's house on a other mule, singing and dancing and ululating and playing drums the whole way. A short break ensued while people drank coffee and sweet mint tea and ate bread to regain their strength. By this time it's getting dark. Once dinner time rolls around people usually start showing up, and this time was no different. I put on my white-with-green-trim tkoboot/tjellabit, wrapped a head-scarf around my hair, and put ridiculous amounts of eye-liner on before I headed over. The rest of the night is just hanging out in gender specific rooms, clapping and singing and dancing. And eating. The men eat first, and then the women. I ate at about 1am. Pretty standard for a women's room. My replacement got stuck in the last room and didn't eat till 3 am. That was a bummer. Then, I went home. The party went on, though, it lasts untill dawn, when the do the donation ceremony. People give money, and for each donation two boys stand up and hit swords against each other and speak a blessing over the donor and the newlyweds. Then, everyone goes home and sleeps. The bride's family gets up to make lunch, and everyone comes over to eat. More singing, dancing, clapping, ululating, blessing, etc. The third day the mother of the groom brushes the brides hair to welcome her into the family. At some point in all this, the newlyweds are supposed to consumate the marriage. Assuming both partners are satisfied with the results (ie. the bride is proven a virgin and groom successfully does the deed), the wedding is culturally official, and the paperwork is deemed valid.
This wedding was strange for me. People kept coming up to me and saying: "You're leaving tomorrow?! Oh no, well, we wil miss you and we are very fond of you and you must come back. Bring your husband and we will do a wedding for you. Bring your children and show them. Get married soon so you can do this!!! Come back, thank you for your work, I hope the new volunteer is as good as you (I squirm uncomfortably), blessings on your future life, say hi to your family, bring your family, visit us soon!!!!!!!!"
One woman even went so far as to sing a song for me. I was very touched, but also extremely embarassed... I felt like I was distracting people from the wedding.
The next morning I got up early and figured out transport to Rabat (which was, of course, more complicated than it originally had seemed). At least I didn't have the transport leave without me, but with all my stuff already on it, like happened to my friend B.

The wedding here was great! It was very community cerntered, which is rare here, but which I really really liked. Having just come from Morocco, where the hwhole community helpes with the whole things, it felt very natural. It also allowed me to get to know the other bridesmaids (all friends of my friend), which made it feel more natural as well. It was the most beautiful wedding I have yet been to. I hope when I get married I can have such a lovely ceremony, with friends and family and outside, classy but not too formal, with good food and good feeling all around.

Culture shock? Oh yeah. I kept reminding myself that it was OK for me to be wearing spghetti straps, or shorts, or a knee-length skirt, or a tight shirt, or my hair down... I missed friends, boyfriend, and the quiet life. On the other hand, throwing myself into wedding preparations gave me a way to push past the "outsider" feelings I was experiencing. I felt so different and so similar to everyone, it was weird and difficult. One day, I wore a Moroccan house dress, because wearing American clothes felt dishonest to how strange I felt inside. It allowed me to give myself permission to feel different, reminded me of my (good) reasons for feeling different, which seemed to be enough to just let go of the related insecurity. That time. It helped that everyone has actually be very understanding and supportive. Thank God for my friend E. who took time and energy out of her wedding prep to listen to me, look at my pictures, and laugh at my funny cross-cultural stories. It helped. A lot.

And that, is most of the story of two weddings. :)

On the Flip Side

And I'm not in Morocco anymore. I am, instead, sitting in my parent's home in Wisconsin. The hills are rolling, the forests are flush with newly grown leaves, the birds are riotous... in general, the land is in high gear for summer, and you can feel it. The air is humid, and it smells of chlorophyll, damp soil and plant sex. For the first time in about two years my hands are healing. They have been plagued by chronic eczema all this time, forcing me to wear rubber gloves for all washing, and obsessively applying lotion, all to no avail. Now, in the blessed humidity, they heal on their own.

This is quite the adjustment. Morocco is... I wanted to say a world away, but it isn't. I feel like it's a world away but it's actually part of this world, just a distant part. Me, I'm a child of forest and field, at home amongst cows (I love to let calves suck on my fingers), a lover of cheese, a wanderer of hidden leafy glades. I got used to the rock and cliff and medicinal herbs of Morocco. I loved my mountains of spices, forever smelling of rosemary. I mourned the floods that carried away the remaining topsoil. I was AT HOME there. More comfortable there than I am here now. I know I will get used to short sleeves, tank tops, shorts, hair let down, tight clothes, humidity, the color green, the availability of fancy stuff, driving my car EVERYwhere, and more... but part of me doesn't even want to. I don't want to take this for granted. I want to remember how priviledged we are to have topsoil. How decadent it is to be able to travel 50 miles round trip just for lunch with a friend--in a personal vehicle, by myself, and spend only 90 minutes on the road.

I like appreciating these things. I like knowing that I'm absurdly lucky. It makes me feel a little bit smaller. It makes me thankful. I wish the rest of my fellow countrymen and women understood. I think we would be happier with our lot in life if they really understood. I think they might choose to use what we have more wisely, that it might continue to be there in times to come. I hope these things despite the knowledge that people are greedy just as often as they are generous. Stubbornly hopeful in the face of reality, because that is something I learned in Morocco as well.

From late April, actually

Of Money, generally

“Globalization: the development of something, so as to make it’s influence felt all around the world.” Which often leads to the homogenization of peoples and cultures due to increased travel, trade, and communication. There have been and are many cultures on our planet, some of which had/have really great environmental ethics. Some examples are, traditional cultures in East Africa, including the Maasai, and most of Kenya’s old traditions. Native American cultures also often had respect for the other inhabitants of the planet built into their culture.

Our current generalized global culture doesn’t do so well. Money talks, and it talks a whole lot louder than the various ‘Loraxes’ out there. Success—as measured usually by possessions, acclaim, fame, beauty, and comfort—that’s the most important thing. So, people climb the social ladder, cutting corners if it saves them money, thinking only of the immediate future. So we figure, well, if I cut down that entire forest and sell the wood, it’ll grow back. Eventually. I think it will, anyway… sure it will! I need the money, I need it bad. Besides, if I don’t do it, someone else will. So I might as well get the benefit… better me than someone else, right? Never mind how steep the slopes are, never mind the animals and plants that depend on those trees, never mind that the sheep will eat anything new and green that grows, never mind the people who need that wood to heat their houses in the winter. They can buy wood from somewhere else. Or heat with gas. The money is more important.

So, having and aquiring these markers of success has become a main goal in life. We all strive for it on some level, and thus we justify it to ourselves: everyone’s doing it. And heaven forbid anyone should imply that the having or the getting of these things might not be as ethical as one might wish. It’s my right to take the opportunities I see! And my right to enjoy what I’ve got! After all, if you got it, flaunt it, right? Sometimes I find myself cynically thinking of all this as socially sanctified greed. I know it’s not quite that. I know, but it’s too close to that.

The thing is, the more we trumpet to ourselves that we have the right to acquire, the right to keep what we get to ourselves, the right to enjoy our hard-earned spoils in comfort… the less frequently we find ourselves content. Content. That means actually relaxing in the present, enjoying what is around us for what it is; happy where and who we are.

I see it happening around me. People see someone else with something, and they think: I want that, too! Of course, that’s human nature. People see it on TV, especially. Over and over they see these values, the supremacy of money promoted, and eventually, they buy it. The drink the Koolaid. They adopt those values, and become less and less satisfied, less content, with their own lives. It’s all about perspective. If everyone else’s life is as hard as yours, it doesn’t seem so bad. But let you see someone else living in rich comfort while you struggle with floods and cold and difficult terrain just to feed your family… and it suddenly seems unfair and awful and intolerable. It is unfair. And it is awful sometimes. And there are intolerable inequalities in our world. But is the answer really to try to attain the same fool’s gold of “success?” I think not.

The Story of Red

The Story of Red

It started, about 3 months ago, with a conversation I had with my friends N. and A. It wasn’t the first time we had had this conversation. It started, as it usually did, with A’s turkeys. He is very, very proud of them. All 14 or so, including a huge and magnificent male named “Charlie.” I mentioned how it would be cool to have a chicken. A hen, to lay eggs for me, and to cluck around my doorstep. It’d be kind of like being the farmer’s wife I have always felt an affinity for. Both of my friends pointed out that there would be an animal market in three days time. I declined to attend, telling them I needed to think my chicken aspirations over more carefully. Usually, this was the end of the conversation. This time, though, A. made a threat: “If you don’t buy that chicken, I am buying one for you!” I thought he was joking.

Three days later, I received a text: “You have a feathered friend coming ur way on the rainbow nukl! Be there to pick her up!” I still thought he was joking, so I texted back asking for 3m of chicken wire as well. He cheerfully said he had made the purchase and all was now on our way. I realized he might not be joking. At 4 o’clock, when I was having a meeting with the women’s association, my friend’s son Yussef comes up to my door, carrying a box and a roll of chicken wire. I am shocked. This is really happening. I go get my chicken, peek in at her, and set her down. She is still in the box. I do not know what to do with her. I go up to my women and beg for their help. The come downstairs into the barn part of the house, look around, and immediately set to work setting up a chicken coop for me. Only they call it a “chicken house.” I am assigned the task of making a water dish for her by cutting the bottom of a plastic jug. I do this without cutting myself, and proudly bring it down to find… a rather well set up wire fence, with bamboo pole and rocks holding the bottom down, and a largish red-brown hen looking rather ruffled and disoriented standing inside it. I give her water. She starts gulping it down. We give her corn and barley bits. She enthusiastically eats them. We finish our meeting. The women leave.
I have a chicken.

Days pass and Red (the name I eventually settled on) get used to each other. I give her crushed barley, bread bits, and veggie scraps. She attempts to escape twice and gives it up as a bad job. She picks a roosting spot on some large branches in the chicken house. I was a little disappointed, I thought she would want a nest, which I had made for her out of straw.

Weeks go by, and she seems settled. But she isn’t laying eggs! A. and N. both told me she was supposed to be a great layer. I ask my host mother, who suggests letting her outside. It’s been a while, and so I do. That is, I tie a string to her leg, and the other end to my leg, and take her for a walk. She hates it! Spends 80% of her time just tugging on the string, 10% looking around worriedly, and only 10% eating like I want her to. She is courted by a handsome blonde rooster, but she runs away. After two days of a stressed out chicken tied to my leg, I’m done with this strategy. Besides, the villagers are giving me really funny looks, and my sitemate is outright laughing at me. So I let her go. And wonder of wonders, she doesn’t run away! She instead proves to me she likes her chicken house by trying to get back into it quickly. So, I start letting her out every day.

The blonde rooster came back. And a black rooster showed up. I’ll call him Torpedo. The blondie I’ll call Mr. Rooster. Torpedo has a one track mind. He saw my hen, happily eating dandelion leaves like they’re going out of style, and thought: “Perfect, I’m gettin’ lucky today!” And he dive-bombed her. No, seriously! I saw motion out of the corner my eye, heard a squawking sound, and there was my chicken pinned to the ground by the amorous Torpedo. Business taken care of, he runs off. Presumably in search of other innocent hens. Red looks a little traumatized, so I let her go back inside. The next day I watched the much more courtly Mr. Rooster attempt to convince Red to join his harem of hens. It works, and I have to go retrieve her.

Two or three weeks after all this, it happens. I walk downstairs to the bathroom early one morning, and there it is. A small, cream-brown egg lying in the corner of Red’s house. I am so excited! I have an egg! For free! Well, not free, but it just appeared there!! From that time on, Red laid an egg every other day for weeks. I was lovin’ it!

I came back from a trip to find Red sitting in the corner where she usually lays eggs. She looks all flat. Like she’s trying to spread herself out. I give her food and she doesn’t move. Now I’m a little concerned, because she is usually all about food. (Like chicken like owner?) So I climb into her house and poke at her. She burbles warily at me. I have never heard her make that noise. I pick her up and try to put her on her feet. She plumps back down as though drawn by magnetic force. I decide to leave her be.

She’s still there the next morning, but the food is gone. So, at least she’s eating. I decide to put her outside. She rouses herself to this; cleans her feathers, cleans her beak, and starts pecking at the ground. This is good! But after only 5 minutes she is back inside trying to get back in the cage. I put her back in and she settles herself down on her little nest in the corner… and I have a realization. She looks just like a robin on her nest. All fluffed up and smushed flat and with a look her eye that says, “Stay back, buster!” I have a new theory: she’s feeling broody. Cool.

Well, sort of. No more eggs, for one. And she’s not brooding anything but rocks. I figure she’ll get over her broody feeling fairly soon.

She doesn’t. Three weeks go by and she is still sitting there. I tell my host mother about this, and she tells me that she wants to give my chicken some eggs. You know, to sit on. Will she take them? I want to know. My host mother seems to think so, so I give her the go ahead. I come downstairs to find my host mother in my barn (she has keys to the outer part of my house), and my chicken with the fanciest nest I’ve ever seen. Three feet wide and approaching a foot deep of straw, I can barely see her in it. She looks very content. I go and lift her up, she’s got about 14 eggs under her, all warm. I poke some stragglers back towards the middle and put her back down. She burbles happily. I bet she will be a great mother. I wish I could get to see the chicks hatch!! I think I want to have chickens again.