Skip to content

Posts tagged ‘South Africa’

May 6

4 Comments

Peace Corps realities: corporal punishment

I hear the phrase “Ngizokushaya!” pretty much every day, which means “I will beat you!” This phrase is communicated between adults to children, children to children and even adults to adults sometimes.

Corporal punishment was outlawed in South Africa in 1996, but still happens on the down low in rural areas. I mentioned corporal punishment a while back when I was a newbie in the village, and talked about how sad it made me when I saw it happen. This was before I had a little more time to sit back and delve into the backward South African culture – a culture where many only respond to violence.

Now, in America, I know you’re disgusted that kids are beaten at school here. You probably think it’s an abomination. Holy hell – what animals, they beat kids in school!

Yes, it’s bad, sad, mad, not a fad, and definitely not rad (my English is getting so bad now that I use the words of a 10-year-old). BUT, as always, there’s a but – it’s cultural.

It literally takes a village to raise a child. Literally. These kids come from huge families, are orphans, raised by old gogos or their fathers work far away in a city. Whatever the reason is, a lot of these kids are from families without two – or any – parents.

Within the village, people consider each other “brothers and sisters” and everyone is “family” even if they aren’t really related because of South African Ubuntu. Thus, any child is anyone’s child, if that makes sense. All the adults are expected to help raise the children at home, in the village and yes – at school.

My younger 27-year-old counterpart told me that parents tell the teachers to beat the kids if they misbehave. They don’t care if it’s illegal because to them this act of abuse will teach the kid a lesson. They give educators their approval and will be mad if they don’t follow through.

I stupidly mentioned to the other grade 5 educator this weekend that my kids never do their English homework, yet they do it in her class.

Then my little grade 5 English speaking anomaly told me today that Ma’am asked her to write down all the student’s names who don’t do my homework.

“We do her homework because she will hit us if we don’t,” my grade 5 said. “The kids will never respect you if you don’t hit them. But if you hit one kid, they will be quiet forever after that.”

Then she asked me why I don’t hit the kids. I told her it was different in my culture and I cannot hit a kid because I wouldn’t feel right doing so. Likewise, I told her it is illegal and if I ever did such a thing I’d be sent back to America.

I’ve seen corporal punishment at my school before – teachers smacking kids with sticks or pipes — but this was the first time a learner actually admitted it happened.

My Peace Corps assignment description has absolutely nothing to do with tackling corporal punishment. I am not here to tell on my school or change it. I simply can’t. The problem is far too big for one person to handle – even showing good behavior management in classes (in my dreams…) won’t change how the adults think because it’s how they’ve thought all their lives and how the people around them think.

One definite challenge for Peace Corps Volunteers is gaining respect in the classroom because many of the classrooms we teach in are battlegrounds of corporal punishment. I haven’t gained respect from the whole class yet, and I don’t know if I honestly ever will. I have, however, a group of about 15 or so loyal learners from my class who like me, speak English to me and try in my class, and that’s fine by me.

I could have a loyal class of 40 if the other grade 5 teacher punishes them, which really puts me in a pickle. Corporal punishment is something I’ve adjusted to and view as commonplace, although I still don’t think it’s right. I don’t want a kid getting beat in my name.

I really wonder if and when corporal punishment will be banished from all South African schools for good. My principal has said before in staff meetings, “No corporal punishment. It is illegal”, which I still have yet to uncover if she knows it’s happening and turns her back on it or the teachers do it behind her back. Also, it’s not like a department official could catch a teacher in action because teachers know when and where to hit a kid; they know not to do it around me even. There’s always a way to get away with it.

This country has a long history of violence from the Apartheid era and sadly, it works; it’s one of the only ways to get work done at school.  It’s a vicious cycle of violence that is going to go on forever, unless a younger generation breaks the cycle. I really, really, really wonder. This is just another reason why I want to come back to this country in 30 years and see what has changed and what hasn’t. Seriously, sometimes I forget I’m living in 2013.

One of my other grade 5s who accompanied my anomaly in our corporal punishment conversation gave me a big hug at the end of the day out of nowhere. Maybe that is hope for her generation – maybe she sees corporal punishment the way I do.

Yours in service,
Small heartLiz

Apr 27

1 Comment

A month in photos: April 2013

  • Beauty pageant time — my school has been working very hard to fundraise 2,000R to contribute to our book project to receive new books for the library. My school’s go-to fundraising technique is to host a beauty pageant. Four kids from each grade participate (two boys, two girls) and then the learners and educators pay to watch the pageant. These learners are beyond brave to strut their stuff in front of the whole school to, of course, some old school Celine Dion (South Africans love old school American music) and bouncin’ South African house music. This may have been one of my funniest and ridiculous cultural experiences yet. The kids and educators took it so seriously, while I couldn’t help but just sit in the back and giggle to myself the whole time.
  • Some randoms: my visit to neighboring PCV Monica’s library to see it in action before I open my library and Monica’s birthday celebration at her site!

Apr 7

1 Comment

Help! In need of suggestions for my grade 5 class story

Nicely put, the South African English curriculum for grade 5 is absolutely unrealistic for rural kids and is a load of eloquently written and presented nonsense.

Instead of sticking to the books, I created a class story for my English class. The kids get two different stories each week that build upon each other. Each story is simply written and has bolded vocabulary or a punctuation concept. My main goal for this ongoing story is to help the kids who can barely read, read a little better, and the kids who can read, critically think. I debated about going on with the story because some of my smart kids finish the work so quickly, but whatever, I’m all in now.

A short summary: The class story is about a boy named Umhaha (greed in Zulu according to my Zulu book). The boy lives in a village and is bored with his life; all he wants to do is travel the world and see different things. He walks to a birthday party with his best friend Thobile (humble in Zulu) and gets cornered by a talking horse, Amandla (power in Zulu). Amandla gives him them the option to each make three wishes. Thobile doesn’t think it’s a good idea because he thought the horse was lying, so he leaves Umhaha and goes to the birthday party. Umhaha, however, decides to make three wishes. The next time he meets Amandla the Horse, thinking that he can make his first wish, Amandla tells him he must complete a task first and will know if he doesn’t because he’s magical and can see everything. Umhaha then realizes that Amandla is pretty powerful horse and could maybe do harm. The task Amandla has Umhaha complete is ridiculous stuff – like steal his sister’s sweater and put it on a goat. After he completed the task, he finally got to make his first wish, which was to travel to other countries. As soon as he made the wish, he and Amandla ended up on a beach in Mozambique.

That’s as far as the story has gone so far: All I know is he is going to travel all over the world and have an adventure in each country –whether that is running into trouble, trying new food, seeing a new part of a culture, whatever. Then, I’ll show the kids on the world map mural at my school where he is in the world. If the kids are good (unlikely), maybe I’ll make guacamole during avocado season and Umhaha travels to Mexico.

I ask the kids questions that evaluate Umhaha’s decisions and what they would do if they were in similar situations. Then (starting this term) I will have them draw pictures of the sequence events in the stories each Friday. Critical thinking and comprehension points! I asked some of the kids last term if they thought Amandla was a good or bad character and some actually said a bad character because he told Umhaha to steal. I was STOKED! Then, there are the kids who copy word-for-word things out of the story to answer questions…a helpless battle so far.

Alright, I may be creative, but I also get writers block more than often. That’s where YOU come in!

Where do you think Umhaha should travel? What kind of trouble do you think he should run into? Why? What lessons will he learn? What should be the major lesson he should learn? What other two wishes should he make? Should Amandla end up being a good character or continue to be a manipulative character? How should the story end?

Got ideas? I have some, but am looking for more. It would be pretty awesome to use outside suggestions. E-mail: Lizinservice at gmail dot com or comment away.

Term Two starts tomorrow. Not in the slightest ready, but it can only get easier from Term One, right? Currently dealing with severe-post-vacation-village-shock.

Yours in service,
Small heartLiz

Mar 19

3 Comments

Month eight: just call me mama

Every morning, I walk by the grade R classroom and the kids either say, “buh byeeee Ms. Mathebula” (because it’s all they know how to say in English). One of my wittle friends, Zinhle, always says, “Hi mama!”


Zinhle swingin’ away, where the “Hi Mamas!” usually come from

Mama is how one refers to an older woman in Zulu culture. But as we know, I’m not old, and I look like I’m 18. South Africans usually call me intombazane (girl), so it always cracks me up when Zinhle calls me mama. Learners have also asked me many times if I have a baby. Am I really old enough (23, soon to be 24), to be called mama and have a baby? Maybe in this culture, but in my own culture? Uh… I sure hope not.

Although I’m in a drastically different place from last year, I keep experiencing things here that remind me of my City Year service. One of which has come to mind quite often this school term: students seeing me as a motherly figure.

Liz Warden, as a motherly figure? The girl who has vowed countless times that she will not have kids because she can’t deal with them? The girl who often has a scowl on her face – without even knowing it? Yup. I guess there’s just something so warming about that infamous scowl.

Last year, I had a couple of students who called me “mom” and clung to me. Their mothers had either passed away or they were absent from their lives. I never really understood it because I was far too young to be considered a mom in America.

After almost two years of this stuff, I am starting to understand the mama role a little more. Because I show a lot of interest in my student’s lives and try to get to know them personally, they open up to me. They see that I care and trust me, so they begin to see me as a motherly figure. To have a young, energetic woman, pushing them to do their best in their life is different than what they normally get.

In my journaling efforts with my grade 5 class, one of my students wrote all about her mom. She told me everything. That her mom lives all the way in Johannesburg and rarely sees or talks to her, she forgot about her birthday, and she even said, “My mom doesn’t care about me.” Then she wrote, “Miss, tell me about your mom. What is your mom like?”

Alright. To my readers who don’t personally know me or my life story, I guess it’s a time to get a little mushy because I can only truly explain this impact of my service by digging deeper into my past. I don’t have a relationship with my mom, and cut off all communication with her last year for various reasons. I haven’t had a — let’s say — present mother since I graduated high school and my parents split. Blah blah blah blah life story blah blah blah.

I’m sure my student thought I would write about how perfect my mom was, how much I miss her, how beautiful she is, and all that. As someone from America, of course everything has to be perfect, right?

I could have simply described what my mother looked like, her name, where she lived, and all that boring stuff. But I had a gut instinct to be honest, probably because I had tears filling up my eyes. I told her I don’t talk to my mom also, we don’t agree about many things and it can be very hard without a mom, especially at her age. I told her that she’ll look back to when she was 10-years-old when she’s my age and realize how strong she is because of all of her mama drama. I knew by writing this, she would trust me more and hopefully not get so down on herself. I understand both of us have very different mama drama, but mama drama in general is always bond-worthy because somehow it always relates to an absent mother.

I know you’re probably thinking how can one of my grade 5 learners comprehend any of this, as I have said plenty of times before that some of them can barely write a sentence in English. This little girl, however, is an anomaly. Her aunts spoke English to her growing up, so she speaks very fluent English for a fifth grader. She’s really mature, too. I enjoy talking to her sometimes more than talking to adults at my school. After telling her about my mom, I can tell she feels more comfortable with me. Sometimes she’ll just come into the library because, “They’re being too noisy in class.”

With little of a language barrier, I can be a mama figure for this learner and push her to succeed in school and life – something her gogo, who she loves very, very much, can’t do because she’s too old. Two years of being my little buddy will be something unforgettable for the both of us.

Staff told us in Peace Corps training, our “self-identities” would change drastically during our service. Well, so far mine has changed from “Liz Warden” and “friend and daughter” to “Miss Mathebula” and “friend, daughter, sister and mother”. Call it mentorship, call it whatever, but honestly, sometimes I really do feel like a mother and care for some of these kids as if I was related to them. Maybe because of my past, maybe because I feel guilty about my family, maybe because I’m old enough to be considered a mother here, or maybe that’s just how this service game plays out. Who knows, except I do know that I’m happy, excited, and have found just another one of those kids that makes my service worth it.

Yours in service,
Small heartLiz

Mar 12

Ubuntu: African Time

In America, we run on the notion that 15 minutes before something is scheduled is on time, arriving exactly at the scheduled time is late and arriving late is unacceptable.

In Africa, it’s literally the opposite. Fifteen minutes after something is supposed to start is early, 30 minutes is on time, and so on.

My first experience with African Time was during PST when my host sister and I went to her cousin’s beauty pageant. We traveled there by public taxi, which meant we had to leave the pageant by at least 4:30 p.m. to catch a ride back home. The beauty pageant was supposed to start at 11:00 a.m. and we were an hour late. Not that it even mattered we were late, because the pageant didn’t actually start until 3:30 p.m. and lasted until 6:30 p.m. My host sister struggled to find us a ride home, and thankfully, she did at the last minute. Mind you, this was the night before my swearing-in ceremony. Her mama instincts stepped in, but gogo wasn’t too happy. From then on, I knew there was no turning back: My time-oriented life from the previous year – where I had to be at work exactly at 7:00 a.m. or face discipline – was long gone.

I didn’t wear a watch in America, but my watch means the world to me here. I don’t know how I’d survive without it because we don’t have clocks in our classrooms at school. Nope, not because we don’t have the money. It’s just simply because time management doesn’t mean much to South Africans.

My handy dandy watch

Everything. Always. Starts. Late. The most comical thing about African Time is that South Africans openly acknowledge it and it’s always fun to take a wild guess about how late something is going to start:

“So, when’s the event start?” I asked my counterpart Miss Molefe.
“It’s supposed to start now now, but you know African Time [laughing],” Miss Molefe said. “[laughing].”
“Oh, so that means it’ll start in 30 minutes?”
“Maybe 40.”
“It’s such a different culture here! Back home we always have to be on time for something, or even early. Here it is always, always late.”
“Ah, but Lizzie, that’s a bad thing [laughing]”
“No, I wouldn’t say that. It’s just a different culture. You guys are so laid back and easy going; it’s a way of life. You don’t worry so much about the future; you just live in the moment. I think that’s pretty cool.”

Now, I don’t think African Time is “pretty cool” when it interferes with the way our school runs, but the only thing I can do about it is make sure I’m in my class on time. Although, my Monday and Tuesday 8 a.m. English class usually starts at 8:15 a.m. due to various circumstances at morning assembly or in the staff room. That’s a battle I decided not to pick – even if I herded my learners to class on time they would still be fidgety and too much to handle without downing my daily two cups of coffee. No thanks.

Look at me here – I’ve got 18 months left in my service, and I’ve already researched my graduate school possibilities. I’ve started to make a plan for when I return to the States in more than a year and already know where I might move to. As an American, I must always have the future in mind.

Currently, term one is coming to a close and teachers (including myself) are cramming to throw in end-of-the-term assignments for our learner’s final grades. I’m sinking with the other teachers trying to get everything done, so what happened to that American girl that likes to plan ahead?

Oh yeah, I’ve been working with South Africans for eight months and African Time has sucked me into its warp at school. Everything I multi-task has become a blur and gets done when I finally get to it. I can be very-American-like when it comes to planning things about America like graduate school, but when it comes to anything that has to do with South Africans I tend to put it off. Does this mean I’m integrating?! Maybe. Or maybe I’m just becoming Last Minute Lizzie – a persona I played very well in college.

I know well enough that no planned activity will start on time according to schedule. But for some reason, I still pick my American mind and get ready on time or arrive on time. I’m secretly hoping that this time, maybe this one time, something will start on time.

A few more fun examples:

African time outside of school:

“I’ll come get you at 8:00 a.m.” – my principal to me [South African translation: I’ll come around 9 a.m.]

“Hi, Ma’am, I have my door open at Mathebula so I can see you when you drive by. Honk when you are outside,” –text message to my principal sent at 9 a.m. [American translation: Where the hell are you? Are you even coming?]

9:20 a.m. – picked up [South African translation: we won’t be late; American translation: oh, my…]
____

African time at school:

“Start doing your work now.” [American translation: DO YOUR WORK NOW; South African translation: okay, maybe I’ll start in 10-15 minutes]

“Start doing your work now now.” [American translation: okay, I’m annoyed; South African translation: alright, I’ll start in five minutes]

“DO YOUR WORK NOW NOW NOW.” [American translation: how long does it take?! South African translation: okay, I guess I have to start]
____

“Teachers there will be a meeting at 1:30 p.m.” – my principal
1:30 p.m., no teachers have arrived.
1:40 p.m., teachers start to arrive.
2:00 p.m., all the teachers finally arrive.

“Why are you late? I need you to tell me why you are late. Is there a reason?” – my principal, trying to fight African Time. “Siyaxolisa (we are sorry)” – the teachers, with no excuse.

Yup. This Is Africa (TIA).

Yours in service,
Small heartLiz

Mar 4

2 Comments

Peace Corps realities: sexual harassment

As being somebody who automatically stands out in a Zulu community and 100 percent Zulu shopping town, it’s inevitable that I’ll deal with sexual harassment from time to time. I expected it. I can look absolutely disgusting, not have bathed in four days, and not care about my appearance, but still get hit on or proposed to. My American friends and I have come to conclusion we think men hit on us because they see it as a challenge, something to conquer – they just want to be able to say they had a white woman before.

Here’s a typical scenario:

“Can I have your number?”
“No.”
“Please? Why not girl?”
“Because I said NO.”
“Oh, c’mon girl…”
“I said NO I have a boyfriend in America.”
“Ah, but America is far. He won’t know.”
“I SAID NO.”

Here’s my most humorous scenario so far:

“I have to confess something to you.”
“What?”
“I’m in love with you.”
“You don’t even know me. You’ve never talked to me before.”
“Yes, but it is fate. I love you.”
“No, no you don’t. You cannot love someone without knowing them.” “Can I have your number?”
“No, I have an American boyfriend.”
“He won’t know.”

Ok – who would honestly believe that if someone said that to them?

The way men keep pushing, and pushing, and pushing even when you are being rude, giving them a death stare and being short with them, is unreal. They really think that if they keep nudging you, you’ll give in because they are that powerful. They think we’re vulnerable enough that we’ll give in because we need them. Some South African girls may be, however, because most young women my age rely on boyfriends.

Traditionally, South Africa is a patriarchal culture. Boys know from an early age that they can get away with a lot more than girls (more to come when I write about gender inequality). They learn from their older brothers and family members how to be a “man” growing up. Women are taught that men are supposed to be the suppliers for the home. That’s slowly changing with the younger and urban generations, but young men still grow up with a sense of entitlement. An estimate of 60,000 rape cases are reported to the police each year in South Africa, although experts believe the actual rape rate is x10 that at 600,000, according to a recent BBC article. Clearly this has to have some root in a power struggle between the genders.

Being in South Africa for eight months has taught me a lot about myself and already has changed me for the better. One positive I’ve gained from being here is learning how to have more self-respect when dealing with the opposite sex.

I view men differently now; I always think a man wants something and I rarely make eye-contact or acknowledge a man’s presence. When I’m in town, I will not respond to any cat calls, whistles or look anyone in the eye unless I hear, “Mpho!” (my African name).

Now that I’ve seen the way Zulu men treat women here, I have compared it with the way American men have treated me in the past. And believe it or not, I see a lot of similarities. The Zulu men are just a lot more upfront and American men are good at putting on an act fooling you, although they probably have the mind of a Zulu man. When I think about how annoying Zulu men can be, then I think about how some American men get away with stuff like that too – why should it be any different? Try sweet talking me again, American men. NOPE. Won’t happen.

Luckily, I rarely get hit on in my village and feel extremely safe. If I do, it’s usually from the village crazy who is a neighbour.

Today at my school’s morning assembly when I walked past him he tried to take my hand and corner me. As he was getting all up in my grill, I yelled sternly, “LEAVE ME ALONE.” Then the other educators heard, they screamed at him in Zulu and off he went.

I forgot about the instance until after school when a group of grade 7 boys came to the library. They asked me what happened that morning, and I simply told them that I get frustrated when men get too close to me. Then one of the boys said he came by to apologize for what had happened. The village crazy is his relative and he, “is crazy.”

That grade 7 boy is going to be a good man and role model for others. There are some responsible, young boys in my community that know wrong from right and how a woman should be treated. Eventually, although it may take generations, there will be more men in this country like that grade 7 boy.

Sexual harassment is an issue any female PCV will face – and even male PCVs in some cases. You just have to find the right way to deal with it; there is no right or wrong way. Sometimes, when I am around others who can help like my family or co-workers, I get angry and scream at men. In other circumstances, mostly when I’m alone, I just laugh because it’s actually pretty funny they think they even have a chance.

Here’s to self-growth – any American man from now on will have to work for me if they want me. I wish more girls understood that about Zulu men. I hope my counterpart and I can get that through to our Girls on the Rise club in the future! After all, service is about making small strides within the bigger picture.

 

Yours in service,
Small heartLiz

Feb 27

2 Comments

A month in photos: February 2013

  • The first meeting of Girls on the Rise — a girl’s club that my counterpart Yama and I started at the high school in my village. The club is open to anyone and will run until November. We will teach about health issues, self-esteem, love problems (that one is on Yama), sex, really anything else a high school girl would want to talk about. With 38 teenage pregnancies last year at the high school, we can only hope this club will help girls make the right decisions for their futures. My counterpart rocks and organized all the girls. We will meet twice a month. During our first meeting we had the girls draw and discuss their “self-image”, how they see themselves, which I think they enjoyed! (more to come on Girls on the Rise as it takes off!)
  • Pen pal project with my City Year school Markham Middle School in Watts and also Stevenson Middle School in Boyle Heights of Los Angeles. My former roommates Marissa and Josh are team leaders this year at each school! Hopefully I can send the letters this week, but there’s a post office strike (Africa always wins).
  • Learners helping me label library books, which of course got out of hand
  • Other randoms from February


Yours in service,
Small heartLiz

Feb 17

4 Comments

Peace Corps realities: that one kid

I  don’t know why the Peace Corps sent me to South Africa or the village I’m living in, but I do think everything happens for a reason. It may take a while, but we usually figure out what that reason is. We find our purpose.

Finding one’s purpose can be a different path for every Peace Corps Volunteer. It can take days, months, years, or that moment may never come. As someone who is so interested in the individual – a person’s history, strengths and weaknesses — it usually just takes that one kid to show me why I’m here and doing what I’m doing. That one kid is that kid who gives you hope. That one kid who amazingly made it through a dysfunctional school system. That one kid who keeps trying and will fight against all odds to learn. That one kid that shows you that not all of your students will be engulfed in a repetitive cycle of poverty. That one kid you know you are going to have an impact on.

A couple of weeks ago, I got a surprise visit from a grade 7 learner at my school. Usually when older learners knock on my door, they want me to help them with homework (and do it for them). This time it was different. A tall boy stood at my doorstep and handed me a notebook. We had never formally met.

“Here, these are my English stories. I want you to read them,” he told me.
“Oh wow!” I exclaimed. “Thanks, I will definitely read them. I’ll give them back to you at school.”

I asked him for his name and off he went. I sat down and read Sebetsang’s stories. All 10 of them. I couldn’t believe what I was reading –a book full of creative stories with dialogues, characters and drama. His stories are almost as if they are a mini-South African soap opera with love, lust and revenge.

English stories

English stories

As I’ve said before, critical thinking isn’t taught here. Creativity is rarely heard of. The fact that a grade 7 boy is able to write his own creative stories is astonishing.

In my journaling efforts with grade 7, I asked them to describe what their homes looked like. Sebetsang wrote a lot, but also discussed the poverty around him and where he lives. It was the first time I had heard an answer from my whole school that was realistic because he clearly observed and inferred from his own experiences.

When I responded to his response, I told him that when I was his age, I loved to write. I would write short stories like he did. I even wrote a book like he has done. With time, I got better at writing. And even though I graduated from university, I still love to write a lot because it calms me down and makes me happy.

One of the reasons why I serve is to help students I work with find their passions (idealistically). I don’t know if I’ve really completed that goal yet, but at least I’ve been able to share my passion with kids. Now that I’ve met this boy, I know we can share a passion together and I can encourage him to hold fast to his dreams like my tattoo says. I realize that if I wasn’t here, he wouldn’t have had anyone to share his stories with or anyone that would take such interest in them.

Now it’s time to figure out how exactly I can work with him. I don’t want to waste his talent. He just came by today with a new batch of stories for me to read. Any suggestions on working with this young writer? Send them on over!

PCVs, never underestimate the impact you are going to have on at least that one kid in your village. It took just that one kid to show me why I’m in my village. I can assure you there is that one kid that will reaffirm why you are here. We may not be able to change the whole system, or influence every kid we come into contact with – but that one kid like Sebetsang is good enough in my books.

Yours in service,

Small heartLiz

Jan 5

6 Comments

Month six: wait a minute…I didn’t go to college to be a teacher

No. I went to college to be a journalist. Um, why am I teaching?

I have a confession to make. I don’t know why I’m teaching…it just happened. It was never in my immediate future. I have no idea if I’ll be good at it. To be bluntly honest, I don’t really know what the hell I’m doing.

Education is the most important social issue to me and one I believe someone can really make an impact with, which is why I’ve been attracted to service programs like the Peace Corps and City Year.

I went to college to understand social issues, learn how to do something about them, and most of all, WRITE about them.

There’s no doubt that one of my main motivations for joining the Peace Corps was to experience and observe, write about a different culture and share that with Americans. It’s written in my DNA.

The education program was what I qualified for, and Peace Corps needed Education volunteers, so of course I took on the challenge with no questions. After all, education is EVERYTHING and this program is targeting a social issue I hold close to my heart.

I’m at a point in my service that most of my PCV friends are at too; we’re all a little worried for school to start and are scrambling to figure out how we’re going to teach our first classes. Many of us didn’t go to school to become teachers and our experiences stem from small group tutoring or working with at-risk youth.

I just returned from vacation and have mounds of worksheets, curriculum documents and grade 5 English workbooks to plan at least my first two weeks of teaching. Two weeks isn’t too bad — it’s more the introductions, setting ground rules, giving assessments and getting a sense of what level the class is at. But after? Ah, only time, trial and error will tell, my friends.

Since I’ve been in South Africa, I’ve really honed in on this, “throw yourself in there” attitude. Everything here for us is new and the first time you experience it — whether it’s staying with a host family, traveling alone, or teaching your first class — you kind of just have to jump in there and mentally tell yourself, “I can do it.” That’s exactly what I’ve been doing and it has been working; you won’t know if you never try. Then, after I accomplish whatever task is at hand, it gets easier and becomes part of my daily routine. I forget that I was once nervous about it.

Nelson Mandela once said, “It always seems impossible until it’s done.” He couldn’t have summarized my “throw yourself in there” epiphany any better.

Please excuse me if I drown in documents for the next week or so. I’m not sure if my host family really understands why I’m locked up in my hut, but this is my Americanism kicking in — I’VE GOTTA GET STUFF DONE.

My principal just came by my hut and confirmed the grade 5 English class is all mine. Well, kiddies, you’re in for a ride. Miss Mathebula will make this class fun, somehow, some way. First point of reference — making “Who I Am” books about who they are, so they can have a little fun and I can learn something about all of them (thanks to my partner English teacher from last year for this idea).

I report to school on Jan. 14th and my first day of teaching will be Jan. 16th.

Got ideas for a grade 5 English class? Throw ‘em on over!

I welcome you with open arms, 2013 — no doubt that it’ll be the most challenging and rewarding year of my life.

Yours, motivated and dumbfounded at the same time,

SmallTransparentLogoLiz aka Miss Mathebula

Dec 1

A month in photos: November 2012

  • Reunited with some Americans in Richard’s Bay, South Africa for In-Service Training (IST)/my first time at the Indian Ocean!
  • Grade 7 career dress-up day–grade 7s dressed up as what career they want to pursue and acted out “dramas” in front of the whole school
  • Paige’s (fellow Battlefield PCV) birthday celebration
  • A glimpse into my shopping town, Nquthu

Happy Holidays! Christmas season has begun, even though it is summer here!

« Older Entries
Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 1,093 other followers